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Anthony 6d
Behold,
the colors blue
which paint
this wandersome jew
These trees of green
they grew
from the apples
that they threw
upon the martyrs head
marching to his death
The beginning of the end
of a well meaning friend

so forgiving...
again and again and again and again
and again

He's sisyphus
He's used to this
Like lazarus
Back from the dead
again and again
if it never ends

Won't bother him.

what I wouldn't give
to set that cross aside
for just one night

His legs
the dogs
they chew
He drinks
a bitter
bitter brew
theres nothing here to lose
the spears just
run him through
but he knows

Love will see the void
Pain will turn to joy

just forgive them..
again and again and again and again
and again

He's sisyphus
He's used to this
Like lazarus
Back from the dead
again and again
if it never ends

Won't bother him.
won't bother him...

what I wouldn't give
to set this cross aside
for just one night...

clean heart...
clean mind...
Love* can't be *bought
Neither sold
or earned
Love is not taken for granted.
abused,
Love
Is
Only
A
Gift
From
Above.
((hidden track))


No right
                  No right?

All right
                  All right?

Ever      felt      cursed      before?
                 ­ You kidding me?      I was cursed at birth.
                  You kidding me?      I was cursed at birth.
Ever      felt      cursed      before?

                 ­ All right?
All right

                  No right?
No right


I'm gonna burn up, baby.
And ya gonna burn up, too.
We all gonna end some time,   that's the rule.
And we gonna go enjoy.
Ya gonna burn up, baby.
But ya gonna burn it true.
I'm gonna burn up, baby.
And I gonna burn so free.
I'm gonna burn so free.
With this torch, I thee smoke, with my third eye, I thee worship, and with ease, I set my earthly goods ablaze: In the name of the Flower, and of the Bud, and of the Evil Goat. Tim's Chips.
If I
told you
what it is I want
like you
ask I tell,
would it matter much?
Matter at all?
You forget
over
and over
we've ever had this talk
so if open up,
spill my lair for you,
how I am I to find the confidence
in spite
of the fear?
And I
ask you
to give me a hand.
Explain
what it is
that will satisfy.
You agree to air.
Close your eager eyes.
Wake. And forget.
Until it happens again.
Every single bed time.
Til I hit the grave.
Pinpoint.
Comet style.
Crush the earth.
Leave a bitter hole.
Never quite sure if
I'm hurting myself
or hurting someone else.
If I got a headache
every time someone wrote about natural beauty,
I'd have an aneurysm.

And now I have one more.
Headache.

I'm still waiting on the aneurysm.
Shower, you
touch me, still,
hotter than
clumsy fingers.
Clumsy advances.
In the water,
I see shapes
rising in steam
built by the
confidence
I can manage,
alone with you,
when I sing.

. . .

Lights out, cast a dark net.
Got the      yellow lights outside,
though,
catching my plans
on the
unbalanced heel,
but the      assisted glow
just makes my. . .
my aura cut out
a visible,
protective shape.

More than this,
in the music,
wearing my skin,
proud, yet *****,
I
      bravely emanate.

Oh ((oh)) Oh ((oh)) Oh ((oh))
I won't live forever.
Oh ((oh)) Oh ((oh)) Oh ((oh))
I just want some      infiltration.
I just ((just just)) I just ((just)) ((just))

I just --
wait. It's no meager thing.
I'm no meager thing.
Come to think of it,
I've strung a string of selfish lovers,
since the first lover to covet my heart.

Enter the present,
I'm of the morose understanding,
the cutthroat waters of the waking world. . .

Temper the mind to take,
raze, and ****.
Take
        Take
                Take

Temper the heart to quake.
Quake
           Quake
                      Quake

at the fulfillment
of practical demand.

Quake
           Quake
                      Quake

on bended knee,
in dream,

for love for free.
My,
my, my,
what am I doing?

By staying alive,
they're not losing,

but what am I proving,
for myself?

Don't
get me
wrong, I'm not crying --

but objectively,
my fingerprints

remain ever obscure,
don't they?

Digital: I'm a ghost. Lo - Pro.
Analog: I'm not. . .

really present.
They,
they call me greedy,
exclusive,
taciturn. . .

That I've learned
from my disease
--chronic listening--
which voices
I'd rather not hear.

Most of these sing song smiley faces
beat you to the punch as if they're racing
past you after a ******* badge.

You want a badge?
Well good for you.
Go online and buy one.
They said "spill your guts"
And So you spill out *******.
Thinking that you're making friends,
while I'm hard pressed to believe you
would be believed by anyone worth friending.
You want a badge? Good for you!
I'll make you a deal if you decide to buy one.
I'll pay the cost for the custom laser engraving:
"Sheriff Big ****" in the land
of      "No      One      Gives      A      ****"
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