sat with hands clenched
Praying ghost will haunt these halls
Hoping that my door will creak open or maybe you'll even call and my chest will once again  become a pillow for your head
Did you find the  words at the bottom of a bottle
Or from the pile you left on the floor
Let's play a game of Scrabble so you can try string together a word that means anything at all
I'm not one for childish games
But I've grown up with people drinking far too much
Liquid courage always helped
Ignite the words they'd never of said
Take a shot or maybe even two
A small reminder of all the bullets I took for you
I left you a note on the table on the back of a wine bottle label
Which tells you why I'm unable to be here when you wake

I've got so much to say but my words fail the capability of causing release
so I turn to smashing my fist against the wall leaving blood spots on your calendar  
Exactly June the 24th so I always remember the day I tried to make the pain go away
The scratches on my legs from everytime I got bruised or bent are never deep enough to leave a permanent reminder
Maybe I need a voice sometimes to drown out my own
Sit there and moan about the bands we love and how generic they've grown
For years I've been a closed book
Stuck on a chapter with all my words thoroughly jumbled up
In fear of being seen as vulnerable and just a little ****** up
Shape me like glass so you can see right through
I've stopped giving my emotions the cold shoulder
Wasting my none to little time Circling my head with heated convosations and evaporation
I've come to realise I'm a gray cloud that needs a release
And a downpour would do us all a favour.

I am not a believer in the popular notion of God or Allah or Yahweh or Prabhu or Bhagwan or Rabb or any other concept.

I do believe that something has created all of it but that power isn't as selfish to make its creations worship it. The power will be happy if we remain faithful towards life on Earth and do not conduce in destroying any form of life that can express its pain animatedly.

I despise the promise of a place in an imaginary place called heaven or paradise if we comply with the words conveyed to a single person by the fictional creator or the punishment in boiling oil if we don't comply with the words conveyed to that fictional man.

Heaven is nowhere if logic is to be heeded to, but heaven is now here if love, compassion and brotherhood towards all creatures on this planet is on our minds while all of us humans loyally comply with our duties.

Any creator, that will tell a man (probably on marijuana) in his dreams that nonbelievers are to be either converted or killed before the descent of Pralay/Qayamat/Doomsday, is a figment of imagination which propagated through the course of time.

Do good, practice fidelity to your family and your Karma will be balanced to help you attain Nirvaņa.

We sit and dwell
Waiting on clear skies and our skin to do the same
I'm trying to write down my heart
Mint condition filted out
A myth of perfection
You can't move forward from inside a box
Does it sound like I'm failing or giving all I've got?
When I was younger
I'd have laughed it off
If you'd have told me I'd write with so much feeling
If I say I'm writing down my heart
Does it sound like I'm failing or giving all I've got?
Words on paper give me so much comfort
When the words inside my head manage to loose meaning when they reach my tongue
Pushing myself to just get through a day
While words push back through gritted teeth
No matter the forces that come into play
I always find myself with pen in hand
Does it sound like I'm failing?

What if I can't look again?
Without disliking the words I say
I'm a manic
And the words in my head never truely translate
I wanna be a artist and create
Banish all forms of hate
That self deprecate
I wanna be happy and smile
But I can wait for a while
I'm impatient
But not like before
6am to see if Santa's called
Is this even good I question it all
But I've realised to move forward I have to scale every wall with due course.

We are the kids
Who want to feel alive
We want to feel liberated and beautiful and young.
We are the sad youth.
Of cutting
And anti-depressants
Praying for some one to save us
From ourselves,
When our minds are dark
And we are alone.
We are the wild youth.
Of late nights
And city lights
With our lungs filled with smoke
And adrenaline pumping through our veins.
We are the lonely youth.
Where no one knows our thoughts
And no one understands
But God, how we wish they would.
We are the hipster indie youth.
We don't do it for the aesthetic
Because this is who we are
We live our lives in black white
And sometimes, someone beautiful
Adds in the most vibrant color.
We are the wandering youth.
Searching, exploring, running, grasping
At whatever we can
That make us see
There is hope
And wonder
And brilliance in the world.
We are the youth of today
We are different
But we are human.
We are the youth.
And even if our youth is fading,
The memories we made aren't.

Oh Kellyanne Conway, when she interacts
with the press, she presents the alternative facts.
The alternative facts, the alternative facts,
Oh my! How I love the alternative facts!

The moon is a cube and it's made out of wood.
The ocean's on fire, and broccoli tastes good.
The inaugural crowd was 12 million strong,
and liberty, life and equality's wrong.

The penguins are all busy making Swiss cheese
and poverty's ended whenever you sneeze.
The Donald shall reign o'er the world without end
and Vladimir Putin is our greatest friend.

Cyanide is nutritious and ice cream is hot.
The *** may be black but the kettle is not.
When night falls the sun gets sealed in a can,
and Trump is a kind, loving, wonderful man.

The alternative facts, the alternative facts,
dear God how I love the alternative facts.
To let tyranny rise through unspeakable acts,
let us live to embrace the alternative facts.

These are times of great confusion
which call for radical acts
and we handle the situation
by presenting alternative facts.

We will manage our circumstances
by Spicer-ing up the truth
and Con our Way to our wishes
by being smug and uncouth.

And if all this scheming doesn’t work,
we still got a Trump up our sleeve.
We’ll simply fire the lot of you
if you sternly refuse to believe.