The fires have razed the city
Pitchforks, picketers and angry mobs
Marching through rubble, the dust hasn't settled

The whispers ask so many questions
How? Why? What?
But this storm is done talking.
They shouted from the bottoms of hell
They shouted as every ear turned deaf
Words of peace, words of want, words of need
This fiery inferno is words of the unheard
The violent night of the voiceless has begun

The fires have razed the city
Pitchforks, picketers and angry mobs
Marching through rubble, the dust hasn't settled

‘t was nice till now.
I’d be a sad fool to complain.
There are others that deal with
much more **** then I can ever imagine.
There are happy homeless chums
that don’t give a **** about sadness but, unfortunately,
their madness is voiceless
and, sadly, our ears get numb after 3-4 minutes of elevator music.

It was cool and everything but now it seems that you’re only
showing the back of your head, as you’re kneeling down in front
of everybody.

No spine. No dime. No nothing.

Death lies hidden in your breast pocket,
just waiting to bite your hand or that of your loved ones,
in a blink of a blind eye.

My inner black dog chased away the black and white cats
and all that jazz is just not enough for
a healthy restart of the brain membrane.

Get closer and hear me out.
I’m speaking through my heart – this yellow bellow fella’s almost done.
I’ll whisper and you’ll understand my stubbornness,
like an unlit candle in the wind,
like a simple quiet rocket/piano man,
like the unlikely event of crashing in a brick wall.

‘t was nice.
All the dreaming
and drinking
and smiling
and crying
and cringing inside my head.
Oooooooh, what a match!
The crowd goes wild and that’s so unlike them to do – clawless, fangless, white tigers.

You might not recognize this day as being amazing and wonderful and all,
but trust me when I say that you’re in a blind spot right now and
as soon as it will be over, you’ll see it.
You’ll understand.
Those were not drops of desperation but exquisite fine wine left unattended.

Hear the echo inside this caveman’s body.
Look in this broken mirror and admit that you cannot see the eyes.

This generation of morons will stay put and eat macarons all day long.
It’s just a burning house, as Robin nicely put it in his song.
There is still hope for this silly antelope.
There is time for the timeless universe that we live in.

You’ll eventually get tired of seeing everything backwards,
of going against the stream, like a red herring in a Quentin T. dark alley.
You’ll get tired and admit that
you’re the ******* queen of everything wrong in this world.

Stop complaining.
Get over it.
For now.

Little boy, looked us straight in the eye
He jumped off the bed
And ****** himself saying
"It's pecker time"
He opened his mouth
And he pointed in
Because grandpa said
And grandpa did.

Little boy, four years old
Wouldn't sleep at night.
"The witch" he'd cry
"Lives in the street lamp.
The witch will come for me!"
He'd scream and cry.
No one knew why,
But grandpa did.

QUESTIONING THE FLAKES OF TIME
       AND THE LOST MOMENTS.
        WHY YOU LEFT ME ALONE?
          WHERE ON THIS DATE?
             WHY AT THIS TIME,
       OVER AND OUT THIS WAY,
                  TELL ME WHY.
  WHY YOU LEFT ME STRIPPED OF DIGNITY ?
       WHY DOES MY SOUL STILL CHASE
    THE RUSTED PATHS WE TREADED ONCE,
     WHERE YOU ABANDONED ME ONLY
                TO AGGRIEVE ME.
                    TELL ME WHY.
  WHY DID MY VOICE BID ADIEU TO BEAUTIFUL
   MELODIES WHICH WERE ONCE SUNG BY IT FOR
                    YOU. MY LOVE?
                     TELL ME WHY.
WHY HAVENS OF MY HEART ARE MERE RUBBLE
                           NOW,
            DESTROYED, DESECRATED
   DEPLORED,THE PINK SHADES OF INFATUATION
                   HAVE LOST ITS COLORS.
           FOR NOW, THE SPARKS ARE DEAD.
BLOOD RUNS COLD TRAVELING I N THE NERVES OF
               MORTAL DECEASED BY LOVE.
                   NO ANSWER FROM THEE,
  SO I DEPART ON AN IMMINENT JOURNEY TO
QUENCH THE THIRST OF MY VOICELESS EYES.
                                                                                                    - Chirayu...

Hear my voice.
It starts from the lungs and propels through my throat
Rattles my trachea and obeys the manipulation of my oral cavity
Next on up through that of another vessel
Incessantly passing through the body
Behind furious fingers articulating words from a soulful dictionary
And out through the
Liberty
Bell.
Listen to my voice.
Its timbre is not that of natural beings, but
the content flows from my brain as a second nature
My instrument is my vessel,
My opportunity to voice that which cant be spoken.
Listen and be heard.

You can't* keep everyone happy
In the end,
Someone draws the short straw
There's got to be someone
Who doesn't get their happy ending

You can't have more than a few friends
When it comes to it,
They'll all get jealous of what you do for one but not another
Until you lose those closest to you

You cant do what you want
Always dictated to,
Being told what you can and can't do
Forever restricted

You can't talk to other girls
They're threats,
No matter who or what they are
You'll be stolen away by them

You dont get a say
About what's happening,
Word equals law, no ifs or buts
Subordinate

You are powerless
You are voiceless
You are relentless
You are subordinate

*You are the one who chooses to stay despite it all