When the house is a hole and the kitchen's a state
and work's like a chore and the tv's a bore
and the family’s complaining and the friends are all draining
and the hot is too hot
and the cold is too cold
and the young are too young
and the old is too bold
and nothing fits anything, anywhere, any old time
anyway - it's not them. It's me.
It's you.
We must stop.
Stop fixing, start healing
heal, feel, start feeling.
What’s in the middle of wrong, wanting out?
What’s on the edge of all right, wanting in?
Let it in, let it out
heal, feel, fail: BREATHE.
Be at peace, *** at bees
go camping, go carting
cartwheeling
spirit sailing.
Free-falling
free-loading, load-bearing
bare-teething
bare skinning: spare tyreing
Spree soaring.
Fly high-ing.
It's not them.
This will not be your last moment
to be in the mud, **** up to your ears,
eyes glowing and goggling at the stars,
as the water flows fast through your brain.
It will come again,
the avalanche, the ever launch,
into the pit.
Learn to love mud.
Learn to love **** and the crap and the water and rain
and the clouds and the sun
and the streaks of light that colour
your eyes a prism. Learn to let go of the prison,
the plot,
the *** of gold that man made, and dive
into the rainbow, drown
in life, in death,
in dust and moonlight.
Einstein said, if you can't say it simply, you don't
know it well enough.
Well, I can't say it simply: I want my life to be free.
And everyone knows shackles
are the devil's fee for ignorance,
for the simplicity that we want free to be.
So make it difficult, you ******
make it hard and wild and brave
and bright and boring: if that's what it takes
to unchain my clammy hand from your clasp,
make it really ******* stale.
Make it meaningless and marvellous
and miniscule and most of all,
make it do what it doesn't say on the tin.
Make everyone look
like they know nothing, only
to find that what they’re really full of is
priceless, like diamonds, and then make them
mine. Make them mine,
all mine,
digging deep
into their essence until they’re empty.
Make me mine.
You ******
You make me mine.
I’ve got the tools, you've got the map, I've packed the picnic lunch.
Bring it.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 1:22 PM UTC
When the house is a hole and the kitchen's a state
and work's like a chore and the tv's a bore
and the family’s complaining and the friends are all draining
and the hot is too hot
and the cold is too cold
and the young are too young
and the old is too bold
and nothing fits anything, anywhere, any old time
anyway - it's not them. It's me.
It's you.
We must stop.
Stop fixing, start healing
heal, feel, start feeling.
What’s in the middle of wrong, wanting out?
What’s on the edge of all right, wanting in?
Let it in, let it out
heal, feel, fail: BREATHE.
Be at peace, *** at bees
go camping, go carting
cartwheeling
spirit sailing.
Free-falling
free-loading, load-bearing
bare-teething
bare skinning: spare tyreing
Spree soaring.
Fly high-ing.
It's not them.
This will not be your last moment
to be in the mud, **** up to your ears,
eyes glowing and goggling at the stars,
as the water flows fast through your brain.
It will come again,
the avalanche, the ever launch,
into the pit.
Learn to love mud.
Learn to love **** and the crap and the water and rain
and the clouds and the sun
and the streaks of light that colour
your eyes a prism. Learn to let go of the prison,
the plot,
the *** of gold that man made, and dive
into the rainbow, drown
in life, in death,
in dust and moonlight.
Einstein said, if you can't say it simply, you don't
know it well enough.
Well, I can't say it simply: I want my life to be free.
And everyone knows shackles
are the devil's fee for ignorance,
for the simplicity that we want free to be.
So make it difficult, you ******
make it hard and wild and brave
and bright and boring: if that's what it takes
to unchain my clammy hand from your clasp,
make it really ******* stale.
Make it meaningless and marvellous
and miniscule and most of all,
make it do what it doesn't say on the tin.
Make everyone look
like they know nothing, only
to find that what they’re really full of is
priceless, like diamonds, and then make them
mine. Make them mine,
all mine,
digging deep
into their essence until they’re empty.
Make me mine.
You ******
You make me mine.
I’ve got the tools, you've got the map, I've packed the picnic lunch.
Bring it.