Jun 2011
Marooned on a boat filled with neo-nudists
Who claim and believe
They are the next big thing
We are all running towards the end of jagged cliff
Scratching scraping scarring and sacrificing our old selves
For the new and improved
I am so tired of these games America
I am so weak from the sufferings of supposed freedom
Where the weak make sounds from synthesized dice gamblers
And the strong continue to feed on real estate which holds no true foundation
I have been on the ground looking up receiving no helping hand
I have seen the last note of a dying orchestra man
That was granted with no standing ovation
I have heard the cry of a mother who has seen their last child die
I've witnessed the fall of a great man
Who was then replaced
By the body of a broken hallow man
Are we blind?
Do we not have the eyes to see or are the "ignorant masses"
As the one who criticized me in seclusion said
Completely content with milling about with their eyes in their pockets
And their noses on the ground?
Are these the worries of a man misplaced
Absent but allowed to run free for their are only prisons for the one's
To daring to show their true self
The page ponders through its own mechanisms
Much like the madmen, the ******'s, the intelligence of bombers
Neither I nor myself nor the man tomorrow
Will understand these words that are heavy with sorry
Each hour ticks forth to a new beginning for someone
But not me my friend
No, I await the coming tide where the illuminated stars
Flicker with a a shed of light
Which me and me only can feel
To be alone is to be free as well as imprisoned
In a world without love, care and inevitable heartbreak
Cast the key into thine lake, my love, for the heart is an evil thing
Which was granted to us not out of request
But by burden
And Keats was to worrisome of a man involving money and notebooks and trips
The cough got to his soul
But first his soul was allowed to shriek and pine a little bit
And now as the sun breaks through the grey colored clouds
My bedroom awakened through the stenches of a youthful man
Each sheet dirtied, each shirt wrinkled, each pen uncapped
Each letter writ not stamped or sealed
Each picture of Her folded, stapled, crinkled and hidden
So even the moon if He willed it would not able to find it
Each house breathes their own thoughts out onto the wind
And wherever I will it
That's where I'll be
Who claim and believe
They are the next big thing
We are all running towards the end of jagged cliff
Scratching scraping scarring and sacrificing our old selves
For the new and improved
I am so tired of these games America
I am so weak from the sufferings of supposed freedom
Where the weak make sounds from synthesized dice gamblers
And the strong continue to feed on real estate which holds no true foundation
I have been on the ground looking up receiving no helping hand
I have seen the last note of a dying orchestra man
That was granted with no standing ovation
I have heard the cry of a mother who has seen their last child die
I've witnessed the fall of a great man
Who was then replaced
By the body of a broken hallow man
Are we blind?
Do we not have the eyes to see or are the "ignorant masses"
As the one who criticized me in seclusion said
Completely content with milling about with their eyes in their pockets
And their noses on the ground?
Are these the worries of a man misplaced
Absent but allowed to run free for their are only prisons for the one's
To daring to show their true self
The page ponders through its own mechanisms
Much like the madmen, the ******'s, the intelligence of bombers
Neither I nor myself nor the man tomorrow
Will understand these words that are heavy with sorry
Each hour ticks forth to a new beginning for someone
But not me my friend
No, I await the coming tide where the illuminated stars
Flicker with a a shed of light
Which me and me only can feel
To be alone is to be free as well as imprisoned
In a world without love, care and inevitable heartbreak
Cast the key into thine lake, my love, for the heart is an evil thing
Which was granted to us not out of request
But by burden
And Keats was to worrisome of a man involving money and notebooks and trips
The cough got to his soul
But first his soul was allowed to shriek and pine a little bit
And now as the sun breaks through the grey colored clouds
My bedroom awakened through the stenches of a youthful man
Each sheet dirtied, each shirt wrinkled, each pen uncapped
Each letter writ not stamped or sealed
Each picture of Her folded, stapled, crinkled and hidden
So even the moon if He willed it would not able to find it
Each house breathes their own thoughts out onto the wind
And wherever I will it
That's where I'll be
