Battle royal for a bottle of red.
Up the ante, we're going for Chianti!

Grant me kindness, pour a splash on my fettered tongue.
Up the ante, we're going for a thousand cases of Chianti!

Hoist the mains'l, sea dogs, raise the anchor, or you be hung!
Up the ante, the Cap'n is in a wanton need of Chianti!

Another wine won't do?
Up the ante, we know where they harbour the Chianti-shhhh

Wind be fast, my thirst is deep, as the desert is dry!
Up the ante, we're not paying' for the Chianti we're takin"

The ship from stem to stern, you get to clean, when we return, alive!
Up the ante, it is worth all the cases of Chianti, below decks we can hold!

Up the ante, we're putting' out to sea, we have a nose for good Chianti!
For when the Cap'n retires he will drink and
sing this Chianti Chanty at a seaside shanty, all day!

I’m a Polyglot Polymath, Microphone’s a Polygraph,
Manners of a Sociopath-Rhymin’ keeps me on the path,
Else I’d be hackin you up like a cannibal,
Pullin the Chianti out-serve you up like Hannibal,

Words heavier than Elephants invading cross the alps,
Under Armour over Body Armour-waistline fulla scalps,
From the Belt o’ the Celt o’ the Schizophrenic Sandman,
You’re triple teamed by -EC- Raps new Xmen.

I broke me chains,some say I went insane,
But it’s simple,all I went and did was grow a brain.
be the Bane of your life,while Mal plays Dark Knight,
A rhyme Super Villain with a verse of Dark Light,

The searchlights on-watch the cockroach scatter,
We speak Dark Matter while your brain gets battered,
batten down the screws-worldviews get skewed,
Mal and Sandman's Positively Mental Attitude.


It’s the original Irish OG rough rugged and ready,
Battling me is futile keep your hands steady,
I’m no pacifist,and if you take the ****,
I’ll clap you with a fist like an obelisk,

That’s a grave warning,-global warming,
The Dragon of Eire ,skies look stormy…
Since cassettes and disks I’ve been spittin ****,
That makes wannabee’s wanna slit their wrists,

The Sandman’s calling,come in and take a mauling,
Rappin since clappin one two and yes y’allin,
from New Aulins to saint Pauls my kin,
Are gathering for the quickenin,pulse races,air thickenin'
Highlander in a land cruiser,take your teeth out like a dentist
E.C’s BRUISER.
batten down the screws-worldviews get skewed,
by Mal and Sandmans Positively Mental Attitude.

Momma was a bleeder
***** on the stairs outside the complex
Mainstays all unraveled
mildewed and rotting on the concrete decks

Her ceaseless curtain calls
belied the prescriptions for falling down

She was a butterfly hurricane comin’ from the coast
makin’ eddies swirl sanguine pools
Even Kruger wasn’t dumb enough to jump in her grey-outs
the guy simply walked away

M covered in blood and attempting to roll a cigarette throughout but failing utterly.

M: Blood dries much quicker than you think. It is hell on cotton and wool blends, but once it's dried on the skin, you can either chip it off or just rub it off, so that's cool. (beat) You know, after a while you start to be able to smell if someone is anemic. It's crazy, I know, but when the metallic perfume entertains the thought processes for so long, you tend to notice when something changes...

M realizes he is divulging too much and snaps out of it.


M (contd): I always feel like a greasy kebab at times like this. Maybe it's something in the electric meat shaver thing that just evokes memories of drunken nights and mysterious bruises acting as battle scars, compared between those who saw, and those who pretend they had. (beat) I feel a kind of aggressive nostalgia for those debaucherous days. I would do anything to be still under that one, singular light source, barely being able to stand due to the altered states, blacking out Blake's eyes and standing so close to him, that with the right music we would be sharing a slow dance. The air was thick and Miss Love bleaching her hair in the sink provided the perfect musings of life and love. We stumbled. We laughed. We fell. Now only I stumble. I pretend to smile. And they fall. They all fall. When I am King, you will be first against the wall.

M again realizes he is going too far and dials it back


M (contd): Some people suggest that human meat would taste similar to pork because of the similarity of blood supply and flesh density, blah blah blah. They're wrong. It's more like veal all over, but that really depends on how latent the person is, and where the meat is cut from. And who was the idiot who said the Chianti would pair well with liver?! ******* idiots. Too fatty. I wonder if the new 'Mock The Week' episode is up yet. Torrenting is a crime, I get it, but who pays for anything any more anyway? Imagine going to jail for video piracy! (laughs) God, like sharing a cell with a ****** or gang member or something, and you're there because you don't have Foxtel and you want to watch 'Game of Thrones'.


M finally decides to drop the facade of small talk and just be real*


M (contd): I'm not... normal. People don't often walk the streets covered in their neighbour's families blood. But if I take out my phone and pretend to be talking about how exciting tonight's costume party was, eyelids usually aren't battered. Normal people are too trusting.

There's a passion that burns
within me that's never
more alive, than when I'm
In the garden.
And in the garden of
love, my favorite
flowers are the tulips.

They're especially inviting
after a bottle of Chianti
on a hot July night, with
John Coltrane seductively
blowing from the CD player.

Equally captivating, is the little
bud that lies North of the
tulips.  And with the right
amount of attention, the little
bud, the pea in the pod, creates
a nectar of the gods that tastes
sweet, like honey to my soul,
like maple syrup to my spirit,
a heavenly sap that flows like
the beer on tap at an
all you can drink club.
Like Dylan Thomas at a
pub in Wales, my heart sails drunk on the tulip's fine wine.
And then like magic it occurs,
when ovulation yearns for
procreation, and on those nights,
On those nights...
I could spend forever in
the tulips.

What Dr. Lector devours with fava beans, inside rots. Too much Chianti?
Not likely. Likely, not enough
but there has been much else. Still,
no amounts warranting any shy example of overload. Mild splurges,
done in high style equal
nothing in comparison to toxic
baths taken in industrial grindstone
mortors. And the payback?
Walking papers and abdominal lump.

Poke it and choke on acid reflux. Pop
more pills to keep it down. Downers
prescribed on more downers.
Feeling down? Have another downer.
What else can we do? Your MRI's
and ultrasound, unsound, do not
come with flag from foreign invader,
claiming this new territory for king.

So, blame it on the offal.
Blame it all on the offal for not
having guts and glory
to fight off its own infection.
And eat your chicken livers.

Dinner with Dr. Lecter,
has always been a treat,
we usually start at the head,
then work our way down to the feet.

With every serving yummy,
he cooks with perfect ease,
whether it be brains sauteed in parsley,
or fresh liver and fava beans.

The Doctor's quite a master,
at innovative culinary feats,
and nothing beats a side of ****,
served up with home-grown beets!

____

Fava beans and a nice Chianti, anyone?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iVlkZVAw8Gc

Care about old things to sell on
Living the memorabilia dream
What will you spend it on?
With blue-suede eyes
And polka-dot ties
What gives you a *******?

I can't live a middle-class dystopia
Where our class system's ******

Don't live to tick boxes and beam ceilings
Small minds without feeling
What's wrong with homosexual healing?

You converse on conversation pieces
I knock head on open-brick

Save it for your dinner guests

Oh my bella Signora why you wanna break my poor heart
Dino he tells me quietly, he saw you with that grande Signore
Tells me you make the **** eyes and **** laugh ooh lika that
But which for me you don't smile **** like that, maybe I bore
Dino says, Signore pretend and ask why you laugh like that
Bella Signora, why can't you see for you I have more amore

Oh my bella signora, Sofia says that Signore has grosso cazzo
Now I wonder if our friendship is beyond Via della Conciliazione
I make for you good coffee and don't rope you in with any lasso
Play as you like, I will bring you roses in rosa at Palazzo Torlonia
Don't leave to go drinking with that Signore at  Campo Marzio
I'm sad because alcune donne says Signore has good testimonial

Oh my bella Signora if you break my heart I will run away to Haiti
People they say, you play with quattro corteggiatore or pretendenti
I say to Marcello, pretend as in English is more like it, go tell tutti
I know window dressing when I see it, know you are too faulty
You like rosa, yes! you like *****, maybe Martini or a cool Chianti
But I worry maybe that Signore turn your head with Royal Treaty

Even now, as we lie here, heartbeats like a metronome for the coming storm, I write songs in my head for you. And though my voice will never sing them, they are the soundtrack of your kiss. Each record scratch on my heart like a pressed vinyl love letter. Shaping my sinking chest into drum skins that my pulse beats against.

If I were covered in magic dust, you would be my happy thought. And all my childish notions of what it means to be romantic would be written down the sides of Chianti bottles in melted wax, like an oak. And in that bottle we would keep our hungry mouths.

And still I find my heart adrift. Ripped sails and ropes leading skyward like veins. Split and tattered and stitched haphazardly together, waiting for the lightning to strike twice and bring it to life. My throat a bricked flue, leading to an open mouth, spitting smoke from the torches my heart fears but always seems to carry.

And I stretch my spine skyward. Trying to wedge my head back into the clouds but manage only to cast the shadow of an orchid that has begun to lose its color and wilt at the edges of its wingspan. Coming to terms with the idea that it may never be picked. Not even its petals, even numbered like a deck stacked against it that it might lose in a game of being loved and loved not.

We want for a little more time. Arm wrestling clock hands into submission with god like fury. Ticking tongues to dampen the prophecy of false mediums. We practice fighting so we may fight for each other. Fight for the greener grass on the other side of the pavement walls we draw our chalk hearts on.

The clock tower is a lighthouse. The lighthouse is a windmill. The windmill is a giant. The stories never end.

Even now as we lie here, heartbeats like a metronome for the coming storm, I write bed time stories in my head for you.

I am a glass of skim milk.
I am a reconstituted congealed protein fixture-ate
molded like a rack of ribs.
I could be alien technology
if I weren't christmas lights and a projector.
In fact if I were any more prosthetic I'd be...
a picture of a painting of a plastic rose.

I'd be at the globe theatre.
I'd be lear, othello, hammers, macky, romero and roz.
Cuz I'm a lick-on-stamp of higher education,
and I'm a bottle of **** that you find under your seat in the van
when you're so thirsty you can hear Berbers in the distance.

I could be the mermaid on the front of wooden ships.
I would be the black olives on your gordita cruch;
and I'll smile at you with 9 inch long teeth
as I dutifully hang your laundry in the rain.

With dozens of laughs all covering up
tender spots I'm too chicken to cry about
I am a master parade floating up, up,
in the middle of the street,
Til I fall with a ******* box of bottled bourbon *****
for my buccaneer bravado's.

And fists
I make while walking
and beating sticks
I carve, still beating,
with imaginary reasons
that I find a bit disturbing.

When I go walking I go walking off into the ending
cuz I'm just killing time while trying not to go crazy
i-I-eye-shouldastudiedmore
I shoulda beat up my *** drive in a dark alley
while it was still raining,
and a I shoulda
red more
bled more
sweat-ed more than I did,
cuz I'm standing here in a bucket
with the thunderstorm looming
clutching onto a flag pole for dear life
like it was my mother.
Hoping just for one big bang
to send me off into the twilight
to shoot me out past the moon once again.
Cuz I'm drowning in the rain that doesn't hit the ground.
and I'm smiling like Bob Wiley on a tree stump,
as I sip at strychnine
like it's Chianti.

(this festive traditional Central-Italian dish serves entire populations of citizens)

    INGREDIENTS:
     ♦  faith in God
if unavailable, any stable moral-ethical framework can be used

     ♦  esteem for traditional cultural values

     ♦  willingness to say what you think

     ♦  hatred of Political Correctness

1)   Wake up in the morning and breathe
rinse your mind and other ingredients well from previous day’s brain-washing

2)   Refuse to believe media propaganda
ask friends/family members to ignore mainstream media & close Facebook accounts

3)   Believe that God created Man and Woman in Genesis

4)   Refer to God as He
main ingredient, beware of fire if Feminists/Genderqueer activists are near stove

5)   Define family as 1 man + 1 woman joined in marriage producing children
let ingredients simmer. Add a pinch of absolute Biblical doctrine if desired

6)   Critique Cultural Marxism in ALL its overt & disguised manifestations

7)   Dissent from the One-World Techno-Narcissist mindset
algorithms and search-filters complement this dish, but feel free to serve it on its own

Persona Non Grata pairs well with a full-bodied Tuscan Chianti, or Montepulciano, but is especially enhanced by any vintage where the Grapes of Wrath are stored.

Dinner is Served*

Continuous hunger
unsatisfied
and faltered
Feed the weak
and eat them young
Makes a simplicity
of having to
house them
or to let them run*


Baby calf, born to be
brazen with a side of pilaf

Seared over open flame
tenderly exquisite

Make no matter
of an empty life

Just too satisfying
to a tempered pallet

To think of where and how
this dish came to be

Ending a wee
youngling's life

Served best with
a chilled blush zinfandel
or an aged red chianti

White and/or red
make up life of blood
and life in continuation

Everyone at the gym is a slasher,”
I explain,
“actress/writer/actually works the front desk full time.”

Wyatt tells me he goes to the gym to hook up with guys in the sauna.

“Yeah, I always see you boys in the see through showers
that face the front desk.
I get all hot on my shift and have to go home alone.”

“Well, you know how us guys are,”
says Wyatt,
“Why are you laughing?”

“Because it’s true.”

He gives me his number.
“We should hang out.”

“I don’t know what to do,”
says Wyatt.
“Betty Blue at The Egyptian maybe?
Maybe the shooting range in Burbank?
I want a drink.”

“So drink,” I say.

“All I need is a forty and a sack.
Why are you laughing?”
asks Wyatt.
“Wouldn’t even have to go out.”

“Hey Wyatt, thanks for callin’ all the time.
I want to do something,
but I only have seven dollars.
I tried to go dancing with my friend last night,
Made it all the way to the club,
but didn’t have the cover and had to go home.
I’m bored and tired and it’s hot.”

Wyatt reminds me, “I have my copy of Women for you to borrow.
Chianti and spaghetti at my apartment for dinner?”

“Sounds great,” I say.

“Let’s get the five dollar bottle with the straw holder,” he says.
“Maybe we can splurge on garlic bread.
You know, my roommate is fifty and broke.
I hear him crying every day.
He still tries to get money from his mother.”

“I’m broke,”
Wyatt tells me.
“I have my cds at a pawn shop.
I may have to skip town. I have some trouble.”

“These things happen,” I tell him.
“Call me once in a while.
Let me know how you’re doing.”

From a moments notice to
hours upon passing hours
the light trickling in the small basement
windows, stuffed with backpacks
and pillows to hide ourselves
from the outside world of uncertainty.

The churning in my stomach,
the awful, nauseous spinning is
of my own wrong doings-
a bottle of Chianti and 7 slept hours
later. I am in ruins.

Aching all morning while you lie
silently beside,
I can't help but think about all the
torture your beautiful mind was
forced to withstand. I too,
would hide even the most pressing
thoughts deep inside.

I cannot even fathom,
(I hope you realize) I'm still yet
a princess, sitting in another
castle in the sky.

quiet still waiting
dinner burns slowly
sun setting shadows

mindless drifting
wondering why
Is it thursday or friday

what rules apply
shall i run or walk
not one ***** dish

great love shines
he's returning to me
one plate or two

salad making spin
I know what he likes
denial doesn't work

candle burning love
snuffed out heat
two glasses of chianti waiting

I thought they only drank chianti
with liver and Fava beans in the movies,
but when they found them,
he was sliced up good,
his liver was missing &
she was passed out
drunk on chianti,
her face in a plate of Fava beans.
I heard it was an horrific scene,
blood was everywhere,
on the walls,
even in her hair.
There always seemed
to be something strange about her,
she was abnormally quiet,
would never look you in the eyes.
I guess she finally got sick and tired
of being treated less than human.
& that's what he did to her,
all the time.
But not anymore &
not just in the movies,
either.

Blended and aged to perfection
semi sweet or dry to taste
you pair well with any meal

We toast with you
and celebrate special occasions
when you get all bubbly

Rosé
Blush
Blanco
Burgundy
Chianti
Moscato
Reisling
Pinot Noir
Malbec
... just to new a few

My carafe breathes
with FERMENTED GRAPES
fill my Waterford crystal glass

Poured to perfection
I drink you in
you complete my day.

Always the intermission

waiting......

buying juju beans standing on red carpet

Forever an after thought

the heart cannibalized

some fava beans and a nice Chianti with that?

Drink up sweet decadence..... ~M

Jambo did turn towards the camp site rooms when
in the distance could be heard be music from
Halloween but its only july said he, then a mask
and blade he saw too late to run but said you can’t
**** me as a voice heard said I disagree as a knife
plunged through his chest and straight through
the tree, the killer smiled through the mask now
try to disagree…

Lolly looked around after her portion from Charlie
as he rode off, Lolly thought where have the rest
of the camp gone, have they have left me. As
she walked around horror music could be heard
and blood soaked areas all around lolly did
scream.

She ran to the lake it was blood red
with bits of people floating around she could see,
in the woods she found more murdered people
in parts people stuck to trees. Then as she turned
around, you look tasty I'll eat your liver with
some fava beans and a nice Chianti, as
she awoke screaming as he cut open her skull,
as she died he said mmm.. Jellied brains anyone...


At that moment driving his moped called Clarabelle,
a late arrival Marc was going 32 in the 30 what
the hell, breaking the law echoing through the
woods he did yell. Little did he know what was in
store, for he looked around and saw a face smiling
back at him?


He picked up the pace; little did he
know his life was to coming to an end, as a wire
took off his head clearly off. The wire snapped
as his head did roll, Charlie Hunnam drove past
and saw a headless rider drive past, he screamed
like a girl and felt a bump in the road. Little did he
know he had just ran over Marc’s decapitated
head. Poor Marc’s didn’t even get to the camp,
he became the legend of the headless rider that’s
know to haunts camp forwards woods on his moped
Clarabelle still looking for his head no less.  

  
So the story does come to an end but the final
question remains what ever happened to Poetic T
was he the killer of all or could people write his end..

Rilke whispers to me…sedentary body of rush…heat pushes

out from the head…throat desires chianti and kalamata

open book, eyes look…words creating doorways

empty landscape. behind her mind prisoners break free, slam gates

mossy, tendril-vined romantic escapes. the time to absorb is over

the well is full…scribble, scrawl so fast...body relaxed

making music with the fast clack, clack of her old Olympia

chair thrown back, mad dash to each bookshelf and book stash

hunting for a line to feed her burning imagination…Nag Champa

flowery smoke signals inspire ancient thought…burns down slow

slower still...ashes rot…distant voices creep closer…the black ribbon is drying

words begin to resist the page…door opens...silence is crashed

beautiful stanzas fragment…slash...love enters and permeates every room~

Yeah, curious furious instincts, going till my tank is empty, life is a balancing act man, hope I don't fall and break apart like Humpty Dumpty. Going in, connecting every shot, yeah you bet this is a battle that I will win, have you already forgot? Tucking you in, bearing my cross, been going up and down those hills man, living life like a boss. Young native and graduated, making my expectations stay elevated like a real g, leaving your corpses eradicated, didn't I tell you not to mess with me? For I am the chronic, get yawl hooked on me, and if you don't listen, I'll go subatomic. Going super saiyan sonic, I hustle every day, yeah I may not be a saint but I'm sure as hell not demonic. Got to dumb it down, as the clock is ticking down, got the *** slipping down, no time to stop, no time to be mocked, the charges have been set, so get down. Twisted explicit domestic impressive with a message, got all you haters bested, yet interested, messed with your heads with my words, guess that makes you infected. Going undetected by most outlets, it's sad the only people who make it it in the music industry are sell outs, and the ones who are real never really make it. I think this world has become defective, false perceptions got you bumping to frauds, so I guess subliminal  brainwashing is indeed effective. Leaning towards Gods, punishment that resembles the crime, get out the rods, it time for judgement time. It sickens me to see them dragging you into their witch craft trickery, get out the med kit and heal you before you become easy pickings. Giving me a head congestion, we have gotten so low, it's like were currently in a recession. I don't aim for perfection, I am a realist, ready for suggestions, got out my idea list, ready to take some risks. Got your ******* twisted in a knot, can you feel the rush? If you got nothing good to say, you should hush, don't have to give it a second thought, lay it all out even it is not a royal flush. I have not lost my edge, keep you on the ledge, spear through you as if I was the Rated R superstar edge. You must have lost your minds if you think my rhymes have become sublime, so there is no need to bind, I promise that I am fine. I memorize what matters, and say my two cents, sure some times I improvise, but life is like the board game snakes and ladders, except you don't get no guide or hints. I'm like lemon in the eyes, I don't comprise, unlike other rappers, yeah I am a light, flushing down others down the crapper. I put everything on the table, don't have anything under my sleeve, I'm just real, whereas the rest of yawl as fake as a weave. I am a unique, so of course the world treats me as a freak, but glory to those who are meek. I can hold my own, so pick up the phone and let a friend know, that I will always bring on a show. No need for help to get back on my feet,  I grind oppressors into meat. Started from nothing, my mom raised me, made sure that I could become a something, yeah I make sure nothing would no longer faze me. Can only look forward, can no longer be the coward, found good friends to keep me empowered. It could always be worse, sure I don't drive in a hearse, but I amerce and reverse my predicaments so that I can change others and make a better universe. Never shot a gun, never got into the gangs, and no I aint no priest or nun, I'm just a poet that shall silence all you little naughty lambs. Get out the Chianti and fava beans, rise against the machine, stone those hypocritical philistines.

Rome was bustling that year
tourist and locals filling the old city.
She was excited four weeks to tour
Italy it was high on her bucket list.
the fight from Kennedy
was Nine hours but she was here now.
Her divorce was final
the assets split and
she was forty and free.
it had been a hard year
but it was over
she was ready to enjoy
the eternal city.

The little cellar restaurant
was perfect it was nine PM
Romans eat late
and when in Rome right.

waiting at the bar sat on a high stool
she slipped on a glass of Chianti.
she noticed an attractive man
he was alone and giving her the
once over. she still had it she thought.
but not for anything serious

her *** addicted ex had burned her badly.
it turned out he had ******* half the neighbors
and most of her friends.
no she was burned.
but a little holiday fling
well that could be appropriate.

she flashed him her prettiest smile
he took the bait and walked over to her.
hi he said
mind if I join you.
she smiled again
only if you don't get the wrong idea.

he was English his lovely soft accent
was pleasant to her new York ears.
definitely not pushy very gentle
and respectful. she found herself
liking him.

it turns out he was a schoolteacher
near London in a small village.
he was touring Italy on his summer vacation.
she told him of her divorce and the hard breakup.
a tear formed in her eyes as she unloaded.
he offered her a crisp white handkerchief.
who on God's green earth carried a handkerchief
any mora
. He laughed and said my mother
makes me carry one she says you never know
when you may see a lady crying
and a gentleman
should always be prepared.
I liked his mother already.

he said he was Twenty eight
a bit young for me.
but what the heck.
I lied and said thirty four.

he was so gentle so nice
I was getting way too attracted to him.
his lovely eyes grey as steel
and his soft voive. Oh My!

He told me he was single
his girl friend had got tired
of waiting for him to pop the question
and moved on.
I don't know why but I was happy
to hear of his breakup.

he said he loved my American accent.
I couldn't believe it he liked
my new York voice.

it was midnight
I wanted to stay but the bar closed.
I thought I can't let him go
he seemed shy to ask me.
But said look why don't I walk
you back to your hotel.
I agreed a bit too quickly.
he escorted me to the old fashioned
elevator in my hotel

And he kissed me goodnight.
he turned to leave me
but I held onto his hand
he looked up into my eyes.
and I led him into the elevator
and up to my room?

that was were I should have
let it go but he made love to me
gently like a new bride.
I wept in happy joy.
as he stole my heart.
I fell asleep in his arms
and felt as safe as a child
in her father's arms.

we were inseparable
for the next four weeks.
we toured beautiful Italy
and made love in every city.
Then it dawned on me
I was in love with him.
So much in love.

I had to fly back to the States.
my ticket was fixed my job
was expecting me back.
I said what I going to do with you jude.
he said I can't lose you Abby.
I will come for you to America.
he stood four hours
watching the taillights
on the jet fade into the horizon.

three months later

Abby opened the door of her apartment.
he stood there so beautiful.
A rose in his hand.
I got a visa for the states
I can stay.
Abby took him into her bed
and they never left it for a day.

A year later

they were taking a walk
down fifth avenue
the baby was sleeping
in the stroller.
the winter was starting
and some snowflakes
we're already flying.
Christmas Carols lilted
in the distance.
He held Abby close
and kissed her.
saying I love you so much honey.
Abby smiled her prettiest smile
for her englishman.
not as much as l love you she said
in their routine mantra.
And there in the busy street
full of countless people in a hurry.
He walked into her heart
and found a place
where fate had made for only him.
And a home where he would never leave.

Send me the necklace and a chainsaw to Texas
there's a movie going on in my head

Chianti and chips
the mask slips

but I'm dead on the inside
and don't try to hide it

I go through this life in a dream.

We can't ever snap on beat
We started drinking chianti
I've been having beautiful dreams
And today snow filled our Louisiana streets
We're on the upbeat of swings
And there are people I want to meet
and things I want to see
"And miles to go before I sleep"
And love to give before I leave

Crazy is just a flavor of the mind
it brings joy to some
puts others in a bind
what have I become

Binding a simple task
straitjackets come in every size
not so my Lector mask
crazy in my eyes

Thoughts of brains and beans
served with chianti wine
in my soul, hear the screams
so for now I pay the fine

Clarise, Clarise,
you never understood
ridding the world of fools,
doing all I could

Wearing others skin
to escape who I am
my sanity worn thin
channeling son of sam

It's not a crime, in my mind
thinning of the pool
excising the unworthy
a scalpel, as my tool

Genetic options thinned
much like culling the herd
their meat has been tinned
inner voices have me spurred

So for now, I have escaped
I am loose and on the run
eating who I choose
being chased by dudes with guns

In the end
when all is said and done
Crazy, just a word
another one, for fun

You left me with a dagger stuck in my chest
Wedged between ribs
Almost touching it
Too bad you didn’t finish the job

I carved out my heart with it
And ate it myself
Served with some fava beans
And a nice Chianti
It was delicious

The useless garnish on the plate looked like you
So I left it pushed to the side to be scraped into the trash
When I was finished.