How they fake
How they copy
How they fear
How they dream scared dreams in tears.
How they drink from bored mugs
How they live like slugs
How they make money cigarettes
How they pray for money bags
How they crave recognition
How they bend for the system
How they brag ignorance
How they weep romance
How they shove it up their asses
How they're continuously embarrassed
How they play the game
How they never blame
How they praise intuition
How they preach superstition
How they form their private cliques
How they corporate religion´
Will this joke ever end?
Sorry, no, I will not bend.
Oh words, a vile pit of clay to be formed for each guest they meet.
Shall our digits press upon them in this way or that as a creaght
Of thoughtless claws within a lying dainty love of the gravest making.
Let not these words be the reason that we are forsaken.
I form out of the clay a form of an empty skull.
Yet has not this skull a tongue in its hull
Like a politician who drowns out the emptiness of its head?
One whose reach would circumvent God himself - as if the almighty were dead.
But my skull says NO! Good morning my sweet Lord!
Thou, my most highest idea, have mercy on this – my gourd
And tell us how to oust these screeching clowns.
I see the good book inside this face, tubes of you and other pointless nouns.
A Politicians’ speech - as empty as an empty skull full of worms
Whose bone is worthless to all but its breeding.
Watch them – never listen – watch their tongue as it squirms.
These people only see words as how they can be used to be misleading.
How absolute this knave is who speaks from a card.
An invocation made not by pure thoughts but infiltrated by lard
Greasing the mind into inclusion with nothing but simple sounds.
With hair and makeup and clothing – and the empty skull - they are the clowns.
I hopped on a train and rode into town
Stepped off of the rail in sight of a clown
I saw his red nose and way too big feet
He had been bitten by a dog, right square in the seat
It's a good thing it wasn't on the other side, I said
If he'd grabbed you by the balls you might rather be dead
I looked in his face and saw his white tear
He pointed to his pants saying he got me right here
I could see his pants would need some patching
But finding the right fabric would take some serious matching
I bent down to look and examined the spot
And thought this clown deserved exactly what he got
Right in the middle of his rosy butt cheeks
Was a tattooed lady with really big peaks
I inquired about the woman painted on his tush
He smiled real big and started to blush
"Have you ever loved a girl so much that it hurt?
Well I did and she left me broke in the dirt
So I tattooed her likeness where I didn't have to see it
But I could picture her clear every time I took a shit."
She was a porcelain figurine.
Fitted with big bright angel wings.
The arches of her heel lifted high.
The weight of emotions carried tall upon her back.
In mid flight she collapsed and broke a piece of her side.
Heart broken she feared that no one would look at her the same.
Once held high, looked to, to spread a ease of mind.
The burden of others piled high upon her back.
Not once did she notice the weight of her own.
Heartbroken she tried her best to hide her ceramic scar.
Afraid of what everyone would think.
A stone tear suddenly etched beneath her eye.
She tried her best to put the pieces back together, but no matter how she arranged them they just wouldn't fit.
Her wings now a dull off white, Her arch not as high as it once was.
She hid herself where no one would ever think to look.
Over by the street in the gutter where most leaves collected themselves.
It wasn't until she met a sad clown wearing torn clothes.
A dusty old hat. Sitting along the sidewalk of where she hid herself.
A blue tear painted on his upper cheek.
Soon as he saw the porcelain figurine he fell in love.
Collecting her broken pieces along with her hand. He loved her just the way she was.
The definition of her tear changed. Never before has she experienced such kindness from hands that asked for nothing in return.
Knowing only to give never once did she take the time to receive.
She looked astonished as he brushed the dirt from her wings.
Discarding her broken pieces in his pocket, replacing them with a piece of him
Your perfect puppet on strings,
In time to your madness;
A tiny porcelain ballerina
Spinning on a pedestal,
As you orchestrate our final symphony.
Maestro of monsters,
My Conductor of Chaos
I adore you-
Here I am,
By your side;
Your fondest hit
Your favorite toy to squeeze
(the life out of)
Your prisoner in love;
(Your good girl)
Begging for just a little more.
Heave me over the side
Drown me in your molten insanity,
Push me under-
To feel the thrills,
Of liberating manic laughter-
To feel the helpless despair
As I perform in your circus.
Here I am,
To beg a bullet
For these lips,
That praise your deeds,
And pray for release,
For a mutual destruction,
A final comedy written in blood.
the joke is on me after all...
Right, Mr. J?
And like a clown
I painted my face
Bringing about a smile without use of speech or gesture.
The power of love was present
Opening a catalog of different pages.
To the external, nothing changed
I highlighted a certain passage.
Licking behind my bottom teeth in an unseen smile.
Of course my eyes couldn't hide such sensation
Based on observation I remained still
Not knowing how to express sudden emotion.
It was impossible to imitate
Not knowing which way was up
Deciding to open myself further
Forgetting the smile I previously painted.
I was seen as a hypocrite in a world outside of my own
Was I truly to blame.
We all could have equal rights
If the world would only grant them.
We could all sing a brand-new
A truly joyous national anthem.
We could sing about at last
The words of the Constitution
Finally will match with reality
Without another revolution.
This is the tale of the autocrats
And how they got badly out of hand.
They decided they knew more about
Things they could never understand.
They decided they knew better than
The people with proper education.
So they elected their supporters to
Lay waste to their own fine nation.
This is a morality tale about greed
And what it can do to men’s minds;
That turns them to skulduggery
And makes them act as if they’re blind
To reason, decency and even honor
Taking advantage of the weakest
Who then grow weaker by the hour.
As many times in history, they promise
A shopping list of impossible dreams
And the weak think they’ll come true,
Say reality is not quite what it seems.
They think by listening to carpetbaggers
They will all get rich and supported
By each elected lying son of a bitch.
But those dreams are soon aborted.
For a while they believe the woes
Are made by their predecessors.
They’l blame the losers, the gays
The blacks and finally the electors.
They won’t question themselves
About the choices they all made.
By then the path of doom and death
Will be almost permanently laid.
You know about the clowns
With their terrible sounds
Terrifying the city
And thinking the're witty
I hold be breath
Because they scare me to death
They hide in the trees
Can they not please
They use to make me laugh
Now on my behalf
Please tell them to leave
Before All Hallows' Eve
The clowns will soon rule all the earth,
Although they play it dumb.
Revenge of the nerds was vengeance for turds
Compared with what's to come!
The watches have all been synchronized.
This shit is going down.
And only slaves will delay their graves
When King Clown comes to town.