Spring time flowers....
With roadside bombs...

Rays of sunshine....
As bullets fly....

Beautiful sunsets..
As bombs fill the sky....

Fighting for religion,
Is why people die....

Their promised 40 virgins,
which is their compromise....

The innocent burned in cages,
and drowned in the sea...

Some are beheaded,
some cut in half...

Children crying,
seeing death not toys...

Things inhumane,
why must this be....

With every second of the clock,
someone drops...

Wars in this world,
so crazy, so old...

It dates back in time,
from the beginning of mankind....

I remember the days when we were two stupid kids,
we were eating blackberries grown on tombs
and the moon was just a big stone
the sun was leaving its last breath on.

Now I am looking for you on the Wood street
where you last time smiled at me,
on the Wood street where people eat with their hands
the remains  of those burned by unhappiness,
while fools sing about love and dreams and the holes in their hearts.

I am looking for you
and I don't know whether you are a human or a dream
or the ash
that slips through my frozen fingers.

Maybe you are just the hole in my soul,
maybe the moon is more than a big stone,
maybe I loved you
maybe
you are still there somewhere
in the Sun's last breath.
Maybe it's just your smile
that has burned
covering my soul
my hands.

Two cents anyone? I've got two cents here for sale.
I'll sell you two cents for one cent,
now have we got a deal?

If that's not enough, then you can have them for free.
They've just been burning a hole in my pocket, no but really.

Still you're not interested? Well you drive a hard bargain.
I'll pay you to take them, now that's what I'm offerin'.

Two bucks and two cents, that makes $2.02.
Just listen to me for a second,
hey now just won't you?

You walk into my mind
You take over
Its beautiful for a moment
And then you leave
And then its torture

Sitting here in my living room
It's early
Kids slumbering in their beds
Wife's at work and dogs are at rest

I've got my coffee and my phone
The television is on, but muted
Other than the din of the freeway
And the gurgling from the coffee ***,
It would be completely quiet,
Except for my thoughts

Yes!
They're a freight train
Steaming
Streaming
Barreling down some unseen track in my mind

Sometimes they come to a crashing holt
When the house settles or a dog yawns
But then they start right back up
Without so much as a warning

They switch tracks and rewind
Second guess
And remind me of something I forgot
They're loud and obnoxious
They're unruly and cacophonous

They slow down
They speed up
Shifting
Swirling
Swiftly and softly moving through me
And then spilling out of me
Out of my mouth into the air
Or out of my fingers onto a screen

Sometimes I catch them before anyone sees
Sometimes I let them hang out for all to see
Sometimes I wish I could take them back
Cast them back into the dark pit they came from, but I rarely do

It's quiet in my living room...but it's never quite silent.