I'm sick of this day at sunrise.
And there’s no cigarette to smoke
within a walkings distance
before i sit across another verbally abusive bastard,
telling me why i write with the insolence of an asshole.
Insomnia that could wake hitler up
has been rallying for his third evening
and my fingers can't lay still.
these hands like tremors
on the faults of my keys,
this shit screen of tectonic hills,
and the snark and bile
that stands upon them,
with humored donations of authority,
of me tryingto describe the world I see.
But still this will not ease my mind to rest
nor will my eyes roll back into the void
where this calamity is formed.
Because there's still some suited family
at the reigns of the nation
where society is in the eyes not of the beholder,
but of the person that tells the most lies.
So I lock my ears with insanity
to drown out the sound
of souls as they scream
at how they've been betrayed.
and they sing chorus' of those
who scores before
tried to sing the same song.
So again, like every day
I'll sit and curse the dawn
because it is unchanged,
it is still another day of sorrow.,,,,,,,,,