Sep 2011
Residency rebellion for the ones afraid to breathe in
The crap in a boat thinking thoughts of the big win
Pure gold turns to fools gold neath' the river which is brimming
With millstones and mile stones ol' Redding screaming "Gimme Mercy!"
Flicking away at the muse to actually prove
One's worth in a Tombstone of Blues
Hacking away at a stone already carved'
The seas are still lo' your imagination there will be parted
Process of purity is not established neath' roof or comfort
But found bludgeoned in grass wet from God' s holiness
To please the masses is to please the mass of meager philanthropists
Squatting on an idea to sell to the absolute highest crippled bidder
Sell! Sell! Sell! Make sure you bring your glitter and your bells
Vegas is waiting with its scythes and its knives and the promise of a prize
Love does not matter there for Love is sold for you to be taught
Stare into the back holes of the 9th tiers and you will surely be bought
Smell the walls the engravings of past misery makers
Ink stained souls praising their own illusion of an individuals goal
Nothingness rains on the heads of the running wild pure
Go! Go! Go! belts out out the man holding a cat in full fur
Yet I am distinguished as I fish for the memories of mother and father
Hoping they will give me the fire for this next morning starter
Where are the bike rides lined with car fumes choking the healthiest soul?
Where are the lords who toss heads ******* tight on their heavy soup bowl?
In the wood, in the creaks, the voices of the former tell the present to beware
Though the heart is beating does not mean with knife it will stab and tear
Do you not see the softness we are heading toward with our flags blazing?
Writing for no one accept the check and the acceptance of their boredom?
Fire heat from hearths not of our world but of the other!
Bleeding fingers spread across the face in poverty stricken struggle!
Shower curtains browned from the dirt of the day
Toilet bowl gone from a weeks worth of decay
Now I relish in the hardiness of madnesses peckishness
Where spelling don't matter and everyone is mad as a hatter
Holes are not dug but swung from the clouds and hugs
Hate hates itself while horns blow their idea of ****
Not though here thought naked spent pitch a tent
I remember no childhood except for the window neath' my toes
Good night lo' good day
This thing was never meant to have its end
The crap in a boat thinking thoughts of the big win
Pure gold turns to fools gold neath' the river which is brimming
With millstones and mile stones ol' Redding screaming "Gimme Mercy!"
Flicking away at the muse to actually prove
One's worth in a Tombstone of Blues
Hacking away at a stone already carved'
The seas are still lo' your imagination there will be parted
Process of purity is not established neath' roof or comfort
But found bludgeoned in grass wet from God' s holiness
To please the masses is to please the mass of meager philanthropists
Squatting on an idea to sell to the absolute highest crippled bidder
Sell! Sell! Sell! Make sure you bring your glitter and your bells
Vegas is waiting with its scythes and its knives and the promise of a prize
Love does not matter there for Love is sold for you to be taught
Stare into the back holes of the 9th tiers and you will surely be bought
Smell the walls the engravings of past misery makers
Ink stained souls praising their own illusion of an individuals goal
Nothingness rains on the heads of the running wild pure
Go! Go! Go! belts out out the man holding a cat in full fur
Yet I am distinguished as I fish for the memories of mother and father
Hoping they will give me the fire for this next morning starter
Where are the bike rides lined with car fumes choking the healthiest soul?
Where are the lords who toss heads ******* tight on their heavy soup bowl?
In the wood, in the creaks, the voices of the former tell the present to beware
Though the heart is beating does not mean with knife it will stab and tear
Do you not see the softness we are heading toward with our flags blazing?
Writing for no one accept the check and the acceptance of their boredom?
Fire heat from hearths not of our world but of the other!
Bleeding fingers spread across the face in poverty stricken struggle!
Shower curtains browned from the dirt of the day
Toilet bowl gone from a weeks worth of decay
Now I relish in the hardiness of madnesses peckishness
Where spelling don't matter and everyone is mad as a hatter
Holes are not dug but swung from the clouds and hugs
Hate hates itself while horns blow their idea of ****
Not though here thought naked spent pitch a tent
I remember no childhood except for the window neath' my toes
Good night lo' good day
This thing was never meant to have its end
