Aug 2013
Angst
That’s all that I’ve become
Someone who worries about the future of life
Plagued by fear and guided by misanthropes
That only care about the name and the value.
Without much choice I am led to believe
That my only purpose is to work and to stand
Atop a legacy that collapses on itself
Falling to the ground like a gauntlet of dripping black.
I’ve become branded by an iron rod
Entrenched deep inside the reaches of my mind
That stings like a gunshot but mends like a stitch
I’m guided by what everyone else wants.
Sometimes I just sit in my room and ponder tomorrow
What my life could be if I broke free of this madness
As if I’ve been reduced to some kind of foreign philosophy
That is commanded by shouting and not by words.
Angst
Is what I’ll continue to be
If money and power can’t restrain me
Falling off the deep end of a far off land
Hanging from a rope that cracks as I fall
I gamble with my life every second, every minute
What will I become?
The lacerations are too deep to be mended
They bleed profusely like tiny waterfalls dyed in scarlet
As each droplet falls is more pain for me
Yet I can’t hold it back because it is what I’ve done.
My body gives in to the haughty blackness
That drinks my joys like a cannibal does blood
My lifeless body is a puppet for everyone
Yet they are unhappy with the result.
Angst
What will I ever be?
Rich, maybe, but is worthiness defined
By the amount of trees one carries around in a wallet?
Apparently so; worthy people plague the streets.
It is hard to continue living
When all around me, people have said
That vocation is my purpose
I used to think it was not so, yet now
It’s all that I have come to know.
Work, work, work is all on our minds
We must make money to free our intentions
Yet important things are stomped on
Like gathering fires on fallen clothes
They are discouraged because they are dangerous.
Angst
Will I die with this thought?
My sole question, one that people fear is death.
But is it to fear? What’s the use in fearing something
That brings us all back to our beginnings?
The sun
So bright in the sky
So vivid in sight
Keeps me wishing, hoping, that one day
This madness will all just
END.
That’s all that I’ve become
Someone who worries about the future of life
Plagued by fear and guided by misanthropes
That only care about the name and the value.
Without much choice I am led to believe
That my only purpose is to work and to stand
Atop a legacy that collapses on itself
Falling to the ground like a gauntlet of dripping black.
I’ve become branded by an iron rod
Entrenched deep inside the reaches of my mind
That stings like a gunshot but mends like a stitch
I’m guided by what everyone else wants.
Sometimes I just sit in my room and ponder tomorrow
What my life could be if I broke free of this madness
As if I’ve been reduced to some kind of foreign philosophy
That is commanded by shouting and not by words.
Angst
Is what I’ll continue to be
If money and power can’t restrain me
Falling off the deep end of a far off land
Hanging from a rope that cracks as I fall
I gamble with my life every second, every minute
What will I become?
The lacerations are too deep to be mended
They bleed profusely like tiny waterfalls dyed in scarlet
As each droplet falls is more pain for me
Yet I can’t hold it back because it is what I’ve done.
My body gives in to the haughty blackness
That drinks my joys like a cannibal does blood
My lifeless body is a puppet for everyone
Yet they are unhappy with the result.
Angst
What will I ever be?
Rich, maybe, but is worthiness defined
By the amount of trees one carries around in a wallet?
Apparently so; worthy people plague the streets.
It is hard to continue living
When all around me, people have said
That vocation is my purpose
I used to think it was not so, yet now
It’s all that I have come to know.
Work, work, work is all on our minds
We must make money to free our intentions
Yet important things are stomped on
Like gathering fires on fallen clothes
They are discouraged because they are dangerous.
Angst
Will I die with this thought?
My sole question, one that people fear is death.
But is it to fear? What’s the use in fearing something
That brings us all back to our beginnings?
The sun
So bright in the sky
So vivid in sight
Keeps me wishing, hoping, that one day
This madness will all just
END.
