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Edward-ColesPoems
I don't want to work for you, fake a smile in this costume, I don't want another day of a boring job and ****** pay. And I don't believe in G-d, no TV expert or demagogue, promising a different way, it's the same formulaic play. So I twist in sheets and walk around to escape all of these household sounds, the news is spouting war again, I close my eyes and count to ten... ...And I wait for some change to come. Your patient *** your siren song. Are you maladjusted too? And do I have a chance with you? Because I slip a pill to fall asleep- nothing else will work for me, I've tried everything there is to cure me from this restlessness. They **** the many to save the few, they decimate all that we knew about what it means to be free; doctoring our history. And I don't want to be the one to bring you down or mess you up, I just want some peace to come, no broken streets, no fallen bombs... ...Is this all there is? Pockets of momentary bliss? I just close my eyes and think of you; my drunken words, your ocean blue. I'll close my eyes, my mind, my tomb; if I could have a chance with you.
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Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 6:34 AM UTC
Drunken Words
I don't want to work for you, fake a smile in this costume, I don't want another day of a boring job and ****** pay. And I don't believe in G-d, no TV expert or demagogue, promising a different way, it's the same formulaic play. So I twist in sheets and walk around to escape all of these household sounds, the news is spouting war again, I close my eyes and count to ten... ...And I wait for some change to come. Your patient *** your siren song. Are you maladjusted too? And do I have a chance with you? Because I slip a pill to fall asleep- nothing else will work for me, I've tried everything there is to cure me from this restlessness. They **** the many to save the few, they decimate all that we knew about what it means to be free; doctoring our history. And I don't want to be the one to bring you down or mess you up, I just want some peace to come, no broken streets, no fallen bombs... ...Is this all there is? Pockets of momentary bliss? I just close my eyes and think of you; my drunken words, your ocean blue. I'll close my eyes, my mind, my tomb; if I could have a chance with you.
A song. C
Edward-Coles
Written by
Edward-Coles
26/M/English
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 6:34 AM UTC
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