Dec 2018
Madness is majestically killing me from the inside out.
I shake about in a lonely haze.
Madness will figure it out.
Lame brain match train mash cherries in an apple orchard.
Who am I really helping here?
Am I writing this out of fear of leaving a footprint or the idea of being meaningless.
Manic Monday's lead to astral Sunday's eventually.
And finally we all plead with the seed to grow in a barren wasteland.
What about now?
What about shouting makes it okay?
The same with planes arriving causing delay.
Life… is about checks and balance's… and keeping your brain attached while they try and strip it away to nothing, burn it, and leave you in the gutter.
"I'm dead!" you will say, while secretly you hide it away and pretend to be a useless zombie inferior to everyone else.
I'm still here.
I never knew what that means until now and how it is a statement but it is also dangerous…
Its like inviting death to dinner while you take your sweetheart out to lunch.
"I'll see you later." you say and just like that, without an instant of delay you're gone.
It’s a song.
And we all play along.
And another thing…
What's the deal with hand dryers?
Have an electric float.
Because even with a cherry on top you could've used a towel.
Speed up the process….
So you dry your hands and then go in to sit through a meeting about tea.
We are all so bouncy, bounding more than strides when we're born and then…
And then?
And then we all start doing things that don't make sense until it slowly drains us of all our money and we end up in the gutter.
Again.
Always with the gutter…
Like… why throw a curve ball through life when instead of being happy you found yourself a wife.
Married out of wedlock.
Found yourself a *****.
Speak as an intrepid person.
Well, now watch me soar.
I'm a lyrical principalist with lots of disciples all of whom I miss.
All of whom I miss.
One more time for this…
All of whom I miss.
And… its not like that bad. I'm not like.. A sad lad.
Its just, if you were born to do nothing… you might as well enjoy it with your friends.
But.. They were all born to do something.
So now I sit here on the fence.
Sort of a combination between humpty dumpty and a stray cat.
A strange combination at that.
No compensation for that…
Giving use to a fence.
42.
I shake about in a lonely haze.
Madness will figure it out.
Lame brain match train mash cherries in an apple orchard.
Who am I really helping here?
Am I writing this out of fear of leaving a footprint or the idea of being meaningless.
Manic Monday's lead to astral Sunday's eventually.
And finally we all plead with the seed to grow in a barren wasteland.
What about now?
What about shouting makes it okay?
The same with planes arriving causing delay.
Life… is about checks and balance's… and keeping your brain attached while they try and strip it away to nothing, burn it, and leave you in the gutter.
"I'm dead!" you will say, while secretly you hide it away and pretend to be a useless zombie inferior to everyone else.
I'm still here.
I never knew what that means until now and how it is a statement but it is also dangerous…
Its like inviting death to dinner while you take your sweetheart out to lunch.
"I'll see you later." you say and just like that, without an instant of delay you're gone.
It’s a song.
And we all play along.
And another thing…
What's the deal with hand dryers?
Have an electric float.
Because even with a cherry on top you could've used a towel.
Speed up the process….
So you dry your hands and then go in to sit through a meeting about tea.
We are all so bouncy, bounding more than strides when we're born and then…
And then?
And then we all start doing things that don't make sense until it slowly drains us of all our money and we end up in the gutter.
Again.
Always with the gutter…
Like… why throw a curve ball through life when instead of being happy you found yourself a wife.
Married out of wedlock.
Found yourself a *****.
Speak as an intrepid person.
Well, now watch me soar.
I'm a lyrical principalist with lots of disciples all of whom I miss.
All of whom I miss.
One more time for this…
All of whom I miss.
And… its not like that bad. I'm not like.. A sad lad.
Its just, if you were born to do nothing… you might as well enjoy it with your friends.
But.. They were all born to do something.
So now I sit here on the fence.
Sort of a combination between humpty dumpty and a stray cat.
A strange combination at that.
No compensation for that…
Giving use to a fence.
42.
About; insanity, madness, and missing friends
