Its hard to concentrate When your thoughts rattle around Like machinegun fire Caught in complicated clockwork Trying to captivate One cognitive idea About Life Conglomerate
While the tapestries Of cliches attempt To coalesce as they Cascade Only to fall away As they dribble out my ears The critics are unimpressed.
There is no one on this earth Who is still interested In simple lyrics backed by Overwhelming overtures When the focus is on expenditures And the bottom line wont budge
Its as if it holds a grudge Torturing visionary artists Hiding in their closets From monsters under the bed And detained by superego authorities While alone and afraid Locked in Negative Headspace
But the artists becon of light Is an ironic twist of common life In a pedestrian plight Captured on 8mm film And put on Lifetime.
How do you write a song when The melody is wrong But the lyrics flow from the hand Like the last latent ramblings Of a dying, possessed man Onto the page as The imaginary lines fade And the surreal becomes real
And in your head its something you can hear
In your gut, its something you can feel
But the fingers on the guitar Cant catch these falling stars And before we go to far Its time to take a step back To breathe
The guitar bleeds But its blood isnt music And if you turn away you lose it As the sound gets trapped behind The saturated limitations of the mind The brass threads slowly unwind Only to stab you in the neck.