the killing to make our revenge noted



you see these poor people heard my mates words

and now, i haven’t heard of my mate since

you see i think that people have taken out their revenge

and sent them through to hell or heaven

i don’t know it for sure

but i can surely guarantee that my mate has been killed and bloodened to death

just because he expressed an opinion

i haven’t seen him since one day

and i haven’t seen the homeless man either

i don’t want to be turned off helping the homeless find homes, no way, no fear

you see the other day, a crazy man tried to walk me to the shops

i implied that i didn’t want to do this, so i ended it with have a nice day

you see have a nice day is better to say than *******

i know people get fucken annoyed with that, but still it’s better

i would prefer if the hawker shops allow him to be there

they will keep him under wraps

but i haven’t seen my mate for ages, and if he is dead, i know to think

that keeping your mouth from saying bad stuff is the best solution

you see it’s nearly halloween, and i aqm getting visions of all my old school mates

being killed for voicing their opinions

i don’t want to suffer with the poor, but i don’t want to agree with the rich either

i certainly don’t want to sit on the fence, that is what losers do

i have my opinions, i should have a voice, and i should be heard

if i believe i was kidnapped in my last 2 previous lives that is my answer

if i believe that mentally ill people smell funny because they can’t be bothered washing themselves

well, it maybe isn’t really their fault

i miss this bloke, who i used to talk to around hawker, has he been killed

because i really voiced his opinion a lot, and that could get him in trouble

i hate being treated like a bad smell, i am a 46 year old young dude

i’m a happy dude, and i hear angry dudes in my head

which really drives me crazy crazy crazy

i watch the muppet show, i don’t want my past coming back to me

i don’t want to get robbed again, i don’t want to nearly run over by idiotic people

i know this bloke who i don’t see much now, yeah he hates certain people, and i don’t hate anyone

that could turn a few heads

i hope paul isn’t dead, i hope we just haven’t gone out at the same time

because there are too many crazy people hanging around since he hasn’t been there

i know he ain’t my daddy, but i just think, it’s queerly strange

i hear this voice, paul, don’t go out when your friend goes out

we want to trick him

but then again, i am not out as much as i was, he is though, keep a good thought

When I met you,
I never knew how hard it was to not laugh
The way we cracked up
The way your face wrinkled up when you laughed,
Like creasess on a paper
Frantically straightened
Only to find the light fold still there.

We laughed like old trees,
So close for so long
Roots like Memories
Leaves like words we knew we'd say
But you were hiding something,
Something worse than just
The insects under your bark.

Deeper than the sap in your limbs
Deeper than the growth-rings that measure character
You had The 94
Now, all but our worry remains
You see, it's not a blight,
This 94, not a disease,
It's the whispers in your roots,
The deathly cadence of the wind
The indescribable,
Overpowering,
Trickle of twisted sunsets
And deformed seasons,
Winter sprouting buds--
Boils upon your branches,
Sickening grey around your trunk

But not one visible sign
Only the molting of your smile,
So folded and creased,
Only the fade in your eyes
While Spring at its peak
An unseen sulk in your boughs
Brittling your laugh
To crackling sighs
All this, why 94?
Now the story ends where it began
So full a number 94, but only the
Measure of how overcome
A surplus of spite
A great harvest of sorrow,
Your greatest and happiest
But never, 94

While Spring states, "Alive!"
Only 6% so,
While Autumn brings cloaking frost,
94, brings the snow
Your Headress of Sorrow
Your blood-gleaming boil,
Your invisible meanace.

"The tree was never good enough,"
A passing being once said
'It's leaves don't fall right'
'Why was it planted here?'
'Why is there no fruit'
'Why'
'How'
'What'
And so, your 94:
Never Good Enough

But I ask: redemption?
Regrowth?
Another Harvest?
Another Season?
Another,
andanotherandanotherandanotherandanotherandanoth­er

Now we're back,
No leaves on your brow,
Roots not flowing for now,
But,
     barely awake for the sun.
Its smile is warm,
Rays of life.
Golden, gleaming--
Breathe!
You're still here
Breathe!
It's only you
Breathe!
But how-- Alive?
Breathe?
Where's 94?

Only husks remain
No more shadows
No oily Rain,
No more grey
Or bloodened boughs

Just you,
  and Me,
  and the sun.