Mar 2012
I
In the course of time
Defects commence to notice:
"Once, it was a hero"
Begins to melt
"Once, it was worshiped"
Starts to fade
The desire to be at least half
Becomes a mere illusion
The grief of starting from zero
Not be just a fusion, (I laugh), for
I am my own hero
II
An eternal dilemma: head or heart?
Life experiences repeat themselves over time
Look back, not with nostalgia, but with lucidity
Not to retell the same mistakes, that's stupidity
Rectify the defects, but don't be a mime
Head or heart?
These desires of a distorted mind are such strife
Those promises for life are barely a rind
It's as soon as you get to the point of no return
That you realize the fantasy must burn
Head or heart?
Use the head is an art
Using the heart in the right stead
But use them both is my oath
III
I come from a quiet little town
But I was never the type of let me drown
Lose and gain accents has always been my thing
So bring me the king of seek that we may sing together
That the best man win.
See, without knowing whether all or nothing
Write, until I have abraded skin, so when the time comes
The tought living at my fingers will shut
Sing, bright or heavyhearted
Feel the beat of unchearted drums
Yell by choice until lose my voice
Murmur lower than a subatomic bell
Until gain a tragicomic muse.
*The elocution of my brain has no dues
For art is a perpetual evolution.
In the course of time
Defects commence to notice:
"Once, it was a hero"
Begins to melt
"Once, it was worshiped"
Starts to fade
The desire to be at least half
Becomes a mere illusion
The grief of starting from zero
Not be just a fusion, (I laugh), for
I am my own hero
II
An eternal dilemma: head or heart?
Life experiences repeat themselves over time
Look back, not with nostalgia, but with lucidity
Not to retell the same mistakes, that's stupidity
Rectify the defects, but don't be a mime
Head or heart?
These desires of a distorted mind are such strife
Those promises for life are barely a rind
It's as soon as you get to the point of no return
That you realize the fantasy must burn
Head or heart?
Use the head is an art
Using the heart in the right stead
But use them both is my oath
III
I come from a quiet little town
But I was never the type of let me drown
Lose and gain accents has always been my thing
So bring me the king of seek that we may sing together
That the best man win.
See, without knowing whether all or nothing
Write, until I have abraded skin, so when the time comes
The tought living at my fingers will shut
Sing, bright or heavyhearted
Feel the beat of unchearted drums
Yell by choice until lose my voice
Murmur lower than a subatomic bell
Until gain a tragicomic muse.
*The elocution of my brain has no dues
For art is a perpetual evolution.
