This bureaucracy was built on the graves of autonomy
I refuse to adhere to a code of mediocrity
Voices are heard but left out of decisions
The world is different than what's on the television
Our fires are frozen and reason is dry
Lets go back to the times when we didn't have to justify
They are drones and we are the pilots:
We can only fly them from the outside
But that doesn't mean that we don't decide
You are green and I am red
We've had simpler times
than what's ahead
But I am red and ready for war
and you are green, and not quite sure
Red is for berries and summertime kisses
Green is for trees and cold-hearted witches
We come together once a year
in holiday spirit and Christmas cheer
We drift apart again and again
so this time I think
our journey should end
I think therefore I am
I am therefore I've been
I've been therefore I was
I was therefore I'm ******
The cycle of self-destruction is a lot like
your eyes adjusting to the dark.
But you can always turn the light back on.
You were once a puzzle; fully formed with every piece in place
And then a tsunami came and destroyed you.
The relentless waves took every piece one by one until
you were gone.
Your pieces are scattered near and far
Some are right by the shore, waiting to be found
Others are further, miles away in unknown lands
And still others are completely useless
Their colors and patterns and shapes turned into
Unidentifiable bits of dust and decay.
There is no way to piece you back together
though I have tried and cried and pleaded to the ocean.
Is it easier to feel the pain of endlessly trying to find and restore and piece you back together only for you to jump in the water and wash yourself away again,
Or to burn the pieces on the shore like the useless time capsules they are?
You have already started to throw your whisky-soaked pieces into a raging fire, screaming for the ocean to suffocate you with its salty hands.
Can I lend you some of my own pieces because
Surely we have similar pictures to piece together?
Can you please help me?
Every time I try to give you a piece of myself I realize
That mine are in color
And yours have only ever been in black and white.
I have learned that the world around me is only as sustainable as
My efforts to keep my puzzle alive
That is why for you the world has stopped.
Like you, I am colder and harsher than ever before
But I heard that once you live in a cold climate
You start to get used to the snow.
What if Hell was actually nice?
Filled to the brim with coke and ice
With incense and spice in a little holding device
Or is that blackberry?
Mixing with sin
Now - the smell of gin, maybe candy?
He captures your soul with the promise of Brandy
The devil dances
Once you're in Hell
there are no second chances
He advises you stay
entices you to play
Hands you a cup with some coke and some ice
"Darling," he says
"What if Hell was actually nice?"