No place for me to fit in, sometimes not even my own skin
The 65th crayon on the floor next to the 64 count special edition tin
The two dollar DVD bin is even out of reach, at a loss as to where else to begin
I guess it's back to the drawing board to start over once again
Not a chance of bein' normal as an outcasted heathen
But that's never been a why for me, to fit in is not a win
I've been sittin' in this same place like a mannikin with a phoney grin
A clothespin holdin' together the fabric of my being with such discipline
But a strong gust of wind tears through like blowing your nose into a cheap napkin

Patched together like a quilt of sin read like a story board of which I'm a star in
Stitched together by not giving in, givin' it all I can, taking every shot to the chin
But life's not getting the win by KO or even by decision
I'm gonna need to be taken out the ring on a stretcher with blue skin
But the goal isn't really to win but to survive this doomed zeppelin
I start thinking maybe I can take this aggression and passion and turn it in...
...to a winnin' combination and spread it through the nation
Empower an entire generation, awaken an entire population

But all they'll see is Frankenstein's monster

©2018

Only God can help you now and and I don't see him here, do you?
I asked you a question motha plucker!! DO! YOU! SEE HIM?! He's certainly nowhere in my view
What's he gonna do, bust in her on some kind of divine rescue?
Kick the door off the hinges and run through, swoop you up and save you?
As a grown asss man how does that idea not perplex you?
If he exists he's forgotten all about you, he's forsaken all but a few
And the slough of sins you've happened to accrue became an issue
He's turned a deaf ear to every sincere word you've ever cried into that pew
Oh but you've never been alone, the devils there for us all
To answer the desperate call for help when our life's in a free fall
When we pledge to give anything for that one thing we believe to be a cure-all
Turn to an inadamint object for a sec for a possible answer to it all
"Oh magic eight ball...is there even any hope for me at all?"
"Not a chance" reads on the small dice, that's when you offer up your small life
Hand over your soul and heart packaged nice in a Ziploc bag full of ice
And at that percice moment he hands over your dreams but at a price
As eventually the good days splice off giving way, showing your sacrifice
A new nightmare trasnforms from your paradise, what once was used to entice
Turns to a vice that's twice as powerful when used as an evil device
And of course, by then, it's far to late to stop this from happenin'
The Lord's furry captured by a heathen stolen through the Golden gate, taken from heaven
Good heavens, where's Chris Evens? We need the captain
But a heros shield held by a broken zero is a domed zeppelin
Soooooo...I win, dark beats light again
I've racked up so many that we should change that old time sayin'
The one about how light always trumps dark cause I leave no question
Leave no doubt in anybody's mind that good doesn't always come out the champion
If you've ever watched any wrestlin' you've seen that the heel or the villian
Gets his hand raised often, over and over again and god willin'
I'll can keep continuin' this stylin', profilin', limousine ridin', jet flyin', kiss-stealin', wheelin' n' dealin' with a little added blood spillin' till my will 'n passion come unfastened or to an abrupt end
That's your only hope so I hope it doesn't ever happen

©2023