So I was walking with my Nana around the city
Was I really that young?
My memory refused to confess
Youth was still there
In the Poor Man's eye and so
We gave Him some SubWay
About ten buck's worth
As he bit down on the sandwich
He gave her a stare of thankfulness
and me a glare of understanding

I look down at some sour
Fruit candies for an hour
But I must say to most
It tasted awful.
Not any tartness taste.
But at least it was novel.

Such an easy feat it must be, no?
I'm talking about my little brother's show.
More or less, he keeps bragging.
Take it or leave it, won't stop nagging.

But I ain't got nobody next to my seed
That's going to be leeching on me in greed
There still feels like a brother's near
And if it weren't for him, I wouldn't have fear

It's a godawful show, too
Props made from parts of the loo
Actors made of cardboard
Falling onto the hardwood

The denouement was a bore
The ****** made me snore
But I had to give him credit
At least it wasn't his script, he read it

As I sat in an uncomfy chair
Watching him talk about current affairs
I got called up by myself to dinner
And declared myself a winner

I got no siblings, I got no brother
I got no father and I got no mother
I got no grandma and pops
'Cause that's where my tree stops

The show goes on, I stay on stage
Make a few jokes about minimum wage
I sit in a chair in the audience, too
Watching cardboard actors and parts from the loo.

With the flashes of light of flight or fight
The faces, flashing strobe lights, shining strong
I give no one a familiar sight
Only to show what's the walls hid along

"10/10, mister, life is going fine."
He nods and sees a young, sweet boy to test.
"10/10, miss, feeling just devine."
Loves to bite the hand that once fed out of jest.

And yet, with some forceful convincing words,
I was able to see the world scot-free.
Sheets of paper in the shape of birds
Had surrounded me, as I was released.

With eyes of flame they still lurk over me.
I fear that I'll never be truly free.

Sending Twitter accounts to an old friend
She does appreciate my suggestion.
We started to live in the digital end
That shall be our final destination.

Texts to texts, dust to dust.

While I consider this not good nor bad
There is a balance between all of this
Facebook statuses while not driving mad
At the sunlight people will start to hiss

Ashes to ashes, blogs to blogs

Email is something we'll never use
So some things are dying down already
But rising from the news, the blues, the hues
Of the spectrum we ride, never steady

Are gaseous ashes to tweets, dust to posts
We just don't know when we should find a host

Trotting the town til I get a sniff
of peanuts sizzling in those stands
About 8 million faces I see
Keep walking til I get greasy hands
So I crash at the hotel

Back there in my hotel
With beer bottles clutched in my hands
I glance out the window and see
Boy beaten up, not able to stand
Tears flow as he gives a sniff

Five men met with me
They explained an amount of things
Of breaking and snapping and melting
They claimed all nations would sing
And we'd have a better tomorrow

I will wake up tomorrow
But I won't hear birds sing
This will keep my ears from melting
Into a pool of ooze and other things
So that can't ever break me.