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TD Rucker Jun 2012
There's a man with no face
amongst an empire of apes
that spill blood like fine wine
made of concord grapes
I carry the worlds weight
with enemies pursuein
but the king of the jungle
won't stop til I'm ruined
Now you can call this my sedition with semantics
or satanics toward the nation
but let me advocate this adverse scope.
And holla at my brothers who's down
and salvage hope.
we neglect our abilities
to comence to be
masters of our destiny
we choose to stay tantalllized by the streets
get lock up stay wishin we was free.
Ballisitics takin' away all our family
these anomalies
got us lookin stupid
forgetting we're not aboriginies
of this land oh man
we can never bow to the man
Choosin to bang
instead of abstain
from this
belligerant babble
the system rattles your cage
with rage
we anhiliate
assimilate
the emotions it produces
abstract thinkin causeing back lash
abysmal thoughts of how to get that fast cash
when cats dash past
we take everything
even all their back stash
but we tend to abnegate
the zenith
to which we are
entitled
archaic ways are the axiom  
so we need to absorb this alchemy
and abandom them
alliviate
this absentmindedness
and abtruse forces as our accomplices
There's a man with no face
amongst an empire of apes
that spill blood like fine wine
made of concord grapes
I carry the worlds weight
with enemies pursuein
but the king of the jungle
won't stop til I'm ruined
Ash Jun 2016
Does it not Make sense,
To want to end
Your own life?
To comence the deed
That for you,
MUST be done
To undo the life
That was so carelessly
Bestowed upon you
Does it NOT MAKE SENSE
That all these 'Little things'
Are causing my miseries
That they have written my ending?
That these DRAMA'S
Have destroyed the beginning
Before it has begun!
The Bell! The bell!
The bell has been rung.
And down they slide
A poison a knife
More tears for sacrifice
Help! Help!
The Heart is gone!
Anguish has taken,
The lights been forsaken
The song...the song!
The song has been sung.
No going back.
To smiles and cheers.
All that is left...
Is pain and tears.
Because the DEAD cannot DIE
Without leaving behind
More hurt to be sold.
Leaving love to cry Why
And letting it shrivel away
Inside.
The bell...the bell
Yes the bell hath been rung.
A beginning Destroyed
Long before it begun
This is no prayer,
For the lovers and weeper
Or the pleaders and mourners.
This is no prayer at all.
For death and the Dying ,
Now in their coffins they lay
Have made their beds,
So you see
This is a poem for the dead.
# death # too late # suicide

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