My heart keeps ticking so it must be a time bomb,
when it runs out all I'll say is "Hi mom."
I've gone to hell and back without even a hand basket.
I'm just one man asking, to be void of these dreams.
I am annoyed by the screams
that haunt my serene scene of the obscene and unseen.
Can your sun lit thumb tip touch the horizon like I can?
Or will you be swallowed by the monster in my darkness,
and fill up the belly of the beast?
Piece by piece you would be quite a feast.
If truth is a religion then I am a priest,
but no where near a saint in the least.
I walk the tight rope of high hopes,
with past and future on each end of my pole.
Beneath me a hole, full of lost souls.
All mixing together in a devilishly dense soup.
Senses acute, observations astute,
I place boot in front of boot.
It's a tough balancing act, some what malice in fact.
But I can not fall and there is no room to crawl.
As if I have a choice I express my distress through my voice.
I don't studder or mumble, I make my words are clear.
I don't slip or stumble, each step is sincere.
I don't falter or crumble, I've been made strong by the fear.
Come over here and lend me your ear.
Just a storyteller telling stories if you're willing to hear.
Jul 29, 2012
Jul 29, 2012 at 8:54 PM UTC
My heart keeps ticking so it must be a time bomb,
when it runs out all I'll say is "Hi mom."
I've gone to hell and back without even a hand basket.
I'm just one man asking, to be void of these dreams.
I am annoyed by the screams
that haunt my serene scene of the obscene and unseen.
Can your sun lit thumb tip touch the horizon like I can?
Or will you be swallowed by the monster in my darkness,
and fill up the belly of the beast?
Piece by piece you would be quite a feast.
If truth is a religion then I am a priest,
but no where near a saint in the least.
I walk the tight rope of high hopes,
with past and future on each end of my pole.
Beneath me a hole, full of lost souls.
All mixing together in a devilishly dense soup.
Senses acute, observations astute,
I place boot in front of boot.
It's a tough balancing act, some what malice in fact.
But I can not fall and there is no room to crawl.
As if I have a choice I express my distress through my voice.
I don't studder or mumble, I make my words are clear.
I don't slip or stumble, each step is sincere.
I don't falter or crumble, I've been made strong by the fear.
Come over here and lend me your ear.
Just a storyteller telling stories if you're willing to hear.
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