i steal.
i smoke.
i drink.
i gamble.
i punch.
i hurt.
i ****.

you see me as red. the ever color of anger.

you see me as green. the hue of greed and disgust.

you see me as black. the epitome of darkness.

but i'm in every way just like you.

i cry.
i fall.
i get hurt.
i get sick.
i get scared.
i make mistakes.

i die.

you don't see me as blue. a sadness conformed into a hue.

you don't see me as purple. an embodiment of fear.

you don't see me as white. the ever innocent color.

because before I was this, I was just like you.

and i guess you'll never see how the evil in me brought out the good in you.

I'm there, but invisible.
I think that I'm invincible.
But I'm no Iron Man.

I try to be a Green Lantern
In a room full of Red Lanterns.
But trying is never enough.
Trying is never good enough.

Rage-filled regret
Strength-radiated reliance.
They call me devoted
Little do they know,
I've just deviated
From them all.

They tell me not to
Put up a fake front
A façade of sorts.
But I have to
To hide my scars
And shattered mind.

To say that
I'm good
When I'm not
Like aspiring to be
Like Atlantis
A picturesque paradise
An upsized utopia
An insecure phobia.

We were born
Into this world
Told that we were meant to
Change it.
Told that we were
Superheroes and princesses.

But I'm no Superman.
I'm a Sentry at war
With my own self
With those around me
With my own mind.

The happiness that I see
Is one that I cannot bear
Like Batman re-living
Past deaths in his lair.

I live it everyday
Feet full of lead
Like Doomsday and Superman
Here I lay,
On the ground,
Dead.

Evil colluders,
Robbers and looters
Claiming they're patriots too.
Hiding from tax.
And Wielding their axe,
Chopping down people like you.

Nothing is out of bounds
Burn freedom to the ground.
Let it all rot
They all say “why not”?
They don’t think we’re people
Banks are their church steeple.

Decades of cheating
Leaving us bleeding
And then they laugh at us too
Put it together
And what have we got?
A rabbity, rascally crew.

Nothing is out of bounds
Burn freedom to the ground.
Let it all rot
They all say “why not”?
They don’t think we’re people
Banks are their church steeple.

Radical fools,
Political tools,
Legions of idiots too.
Put them together
And what have you got?
Republican dillweeds is who.

Nothing is out of bounds
Burn freedom to the ground.
Let it all rot
They all say “why not”?
They don’t think we’re people
Banks are their church steeple.

the problem
with heroes
is that everyone thinks
they're perfect
until they're not.

its almost as if
people can't stand to deal
with the dark sides of people that exist*

nobody likes discovering
the skeletons that we keep
they'll tell you they care
that they'll always be there
that there's nothing
that could ever
change their mind
until something does

then suddenly
curtains are closed
all good that has once been done
disappears into smoke

people love to say
tell me the truth over a lie any day
but when truth comes knocking
*suddenly they're the ones running away

Our God is really excellent
At death and genocide.
How we love to celebrate
How many folks have died.
We always feel better about life
And the wonderful heavenly joy
When we’ve murdered some foreigner's wife.
Or when we put to death girls and boys.

It is so commendable of humans
To execute those who are different
Or if they commit the cardinal sin
Of being some kind of sick dissident
Who refuses to do what we want
Like maybe lying down and acquiescing
Or refusing to shut up and play along with
Our political posturing and window dressing.

And is is all sacred and very holy;
Every bit of it is hidden by claims
That all genocide and bigotry
Is committed in our God’s name,
Unless the genocide and prejudice
Is directed anywhere near us.
The we whip out our Bibles and cry
And make a self-righteous fuss.

The Golden Rule applies to all
Except heathens and non-Caucasians.
And then it’s a noose, SWAT team or
At least an *** for every occasion.
Because killing people is terrible;
It is simply not the proper way
To deal with all of life’s issues,
Unless we want to, then it’s okay.

And all of it is by The Good Book
If the right verses are selected.
The American Bible is written to insure
The right people are not neglected.
And everyone should worship
And join the Living God’s legions
And be exactly like he lived life:
A blond-haired, blue eyed Norwegian.

Disgusted now that America is busted
For voting in sewer rats and gone to bat
For making this into an autocracy,
Working to gut democracy and replace it,
Deface and deforest all of the best
Then sell off the rest of the planet
From the water to the granite
Leaving only inedible gold
Shoved into the the wallets
Of the national pickpockets
And liars while they set fires
And burn down the country
With their hatred and bigotry
Unchecked by the lazy populace
Too stupid to know what danger is
While it is marching into their homes
Making every state a danger zone.

The traitors who own the industries
Hold a gun to journalist monopolies
So that artificial realities are sold
As socialized necessities
To people who prefer tabloids
To history books and crave bromides
For this time it is the Christians
That fiddle while Rome turns to ruins
And ashes surrounded by those who fought
While a complacent half of America did not.

I am sickened at the laziness,
The political father of craziness
Has let this horror happen to this,
The country of which I was always proud,
And sick of how loud the rats are
That they have taken destruction so far
That we may never recover again
And start to elect countrymen
Instead of men to own the country
Without a scintilla of modesty
And treat fine people shoddily
Merely because they can.
Who needs that kind of man?

In the mountains of winter, hats hung to the west, on the North Star we've ridden into tomorrow instead. The natives can smell the fear that's starving your dog, that keeps the anger inside you bottled up in you alone.

And the acres subside, the girls lay in their shorts, but I hate disappointment. I hate being let down. I say you have the prettiest blue eyes that I've ever found.

In the valley, if they come, we'll read ourselves into history. Rocks for the eyes, and sticks for the knees. Against all that's wicked, inside something strong. We've all had our guts pulled out to a Keith Richards song. And the drums break, the strummer hums back, the words mix and there's a cacophony of wrong.

Even the hero will be our villain before we've come too far along.