Hush now Baby, don't you cry.
Momma's gonna sing you a lullaby.
Daddy's gonna stay up all through the night
To keep those Creepies from creepin' in.

Easy Darlin', rest your head.
We'll check the closet, and under the bed.
The front door's bein' guarded by our old hound dog Jed
To keep the Creepies from creepin' in.

(When I was small I wasn't too tall at all,
In fact I was a tadpole like you...
My Dad and Mom stayed up all night long
To keep the Creepies from creepin' into my room)

So hush now Baby, close your eyes.
Mommy's gonna' sing you some sweet by-and-bys.
And I'll be right here, next to your side
To keep the Creepies from creepin' in.

Look, I was gonna go easy on you not to hurt your feelings, but I’m only going to get this one chance!
Something’s wrong… I can feel it.
Just a feeling I got, like something’s about to happen… but I don’t know what.
If that means what I think it means, we’re in trouble—big trouble—and if he’s as bananas as you say I’m not taking any chances!

(You are just what the doc ordered)

I’m beginning to feel like a write god (write god).
Can all the readers out there who think I’m right nod, right nod.
Now here I am again for another rap talk, rap talk…
They said I write like a monster, so call me scribe-star,
But for me to write like a beast means I’m a demon at least;
I got a devil kept in my pocket,
On my shoulder’s when I rock it.
Talkin’ of killin’ and of thrillin’; won’t stop it!
Write a demon doorway, now knock on it!
Ever since the dark days when I’d just lost it,
Way back when the world would pace and chant “Nutcase!”
I’m a ******, but I’m charming;
Yes, a crude, rude dude, but I’m still disarming.
Using syllables to **** ‘em all with this
empowering empire of powerful vampires.
The writer-type clackin’ back with typewriters, like way back, right?
Clackity-clack!
Rockin’ stack after stack, clackin’ out more attacks,
Ideas tacked out while hacks hack out their crap (but ******* spew **** all the time),
so I perform written parkour tricks so you’re not bored; strike a chord.
Show you Stryker’s tortured life of suicide ‘n strife turnin’
to strength and a fiery passion burnin’ while readers’ guts are churnin’—
teary eyes all burnin’.
Their fears are returnin’ from a story I turned out when I got turned on
to my own life.
Now I drop F-bombs;
exploding real-life scenes—
these ain’t your G-rated dreams, so take your outdated themes—
It’s the **** I’ve seen; don’t make me obscene.
I’m mean, I mean, it’s my means to screen a scene between a matte sheen.

‘Cause I’m beginning to feel like a write god (write god).
Can all the readers out there who think I’m right nod, right nod.
Now here I am again for another rap talk, rap talk…
They ask me to thaw out these oily blocks called ink-wads, ink-wads.
There’s a body in everybody , but not all bodies have a brain that makes them feel sane.
Like a train—just the same—
Might be runnin’ but we still cast blame,
The loading docks of our thoughts; they’re locked-up in a box,
And they’re stackin’ up like blocks
That turn the stacks to empty tracks (****!)
Trainees blame their brainees when it’s not easy training brains, see?
But the boarding isn’t boring—training brains; not trading pains—
Remember: the station’s self-exploration!
Me? I’m a hodgepodge! From train station to abandoned lodge;
Bully dodgin’, fully locked-in when I freaked out, fattened-up and then I geeked out,
Told “keep it down” but then peaked when I peeked deep down.
Creepin’ up, now, and keepin’ up (WOW!)
I swear it up and tear it up scribbled swords,
And now I wear awards for slingin’ words;
Offered praise; a chance to forget about the craze that once darkened all my days,
But I write that way—say “that’s okay ‘cuz it helps me write this way—each and every day!
And hacks think I act this way just to seem this way, ‘til come the day when the cray-cray takes the doubt away.
Demon obsessed? I’m possessed! Can’t own what you don’t possess!
“Hey, devil-lookin’ boy!”
So ***** for my honey I’m rockin’ horns, look here boy!
A Literary Dark Mass-acre,
Like the devil laid waste to a church on the page, looker boy!
They got a gold star, and a high five,
Felt so alive to see their own scribes make it to Momma’s fridge, ****** boy!
Hey, schnook-ah boy, looky here, looker boy,
I’m held up by The Legion, book-it boy!
Had to push for every word—every page—had to swallow all the rage,
Now you want out of your cage, schnook-ah boy?
I’m legendary—literary—and you’re literally just a *****, little boy!
So sell out while I’m bought out, ******-boy!

‘Cause I’m beginning to feel like a write god (write god).
Can all the readers out there who think I’m right nod, right nod.
The way I’m burnin’ through these pages, call me Dark Lord, Dark Lord!
But they’d rather burn my books, so start a fire war, fire war!
Can’t get it through your head? Words are more than Edward! He’s dead! WORD!
Let me drag you off to meet Dracula; take you back to the dawn of the dark lord, yea?
Fast forward to the foreword where the F-word’s “fangs” (you’re welcome);
This is my Hell, come! Be free!
Part Morningstar; part Morpheus! I throw up a kiss and jot down the kills like they’re red-apple pills.
Go ask Alice back at my palace what you should read to feed your head.
Sentence structure so smooth they call me FE-line, and my cat’s got better plot lines,
That the hacks will all call “sublime” (it’s “sub-fine”)
But me?
My **** scenes are brutal,
And my romance? Not frugal. I don’t saturate—I arrogate—
But I don’t condemn my characters to *******!
I wanna make readers care—if readers dare—
To connect and feel and follow where they can find some hope and power there.
While also giving them a place somewhere that isn’t here—though filled with fear—
A place where they don’t feel jeered or feel weird.
Horror ain’t just movie monsters, or gore-****** scopin’ sponsors!
You speak French? C’est de la merde, monsieur!
You look unsure! But I have the cure in the written word!
And though you once were achin’ for a rockstar author cravin’ bacon,
The role has since been taken by your man, Squiers.
And like a pair of pliers, I can reach into readers’ brains and cross all sorts of wires!
I’m settin’ cranial fires behind the eyes of all my buyers!
And while I’m growing Ghost Riders—ridin’ shotgun on the bullet-train ‘tween the pages—
There’s a horde of haters harboring growing rages
With a narrow gaze of who scribes pages.
They say I can’t write ‘cuz of my tattoos or my gauges
So allow me to assuage this: y’all can’t cage this!
If you don’t like it, let me show you where the grave is!
You’re well-aged, but I’m ageless!
Like the undead through the ages!
And like Shakespeare took to stages you can find me where the page is:
I’m hip to a script, I’m at home with a poem and feeling groovy writin’ movies; and I’ll be EZ on your TV.
You write normal? **** being normal!
What a novel theory! So very dreary!
Why the **** are they so leery, they say “Writing fear? We don’t want to hurt no feelings.”
Feelings? Setting up ceilings! Just more limits! It’s life! Live it!
Set the roof on fire!
Plot is getting hotter than a 24/7 squatter on a ***** channel!
So what if some **** gets a hair up ‘er ****? Don’t make it ****!
They wanna say “Hey you, we’re here to stifle!”
‘Cuz I mentioned rifles? Do they really want to trifle?
So I say:
“Better bring a sweater ‘cuz this thriller’s gonna chill ya—sure hope it doesn’t **** ya—and ya gonna get’a fill o’ all the ***** that I don’t give, ‘cuz I don’t live to let ******* quip or give me lip about my lit.
I’m entertaining and elating and also demonstrating how devastating a stream of escalating scenes can be so penetrating—although frustrating—to a mind that’s celebrating what it means to be vacationing between the pages; wading through the stages of a war that forever wages; meditating through the escalations now that they know what TRUE rage is!
“Oh, he’s too ******!”
That’s right! Ain’t right. That’s life: not nice; it’s strife.
It’s not just me; it’s we.
I just found a better way to show it:
Monsters that aren’t monsters;
Abuse put to good use; bred virtues!
“I don’t know how to plot plots like that;
I don’t know what words to use.”
Did it really never occur to them that to read a book—just to take a look—and THEN take up the pen?
You read King if you want to be king, strictly speaking.
A writing mind that isn’t a reading mind is a weakling; a weak link.
I’m a scholar—not a bawler—so I’m a flyer where there’s fallers;
Raised on Goosebumps and Creepy Crawlers so I’d Stine while others whined.
Got a dark side, but that’s The Dark Side on my side; counter haters with my Vader:
“I would be your father… but your dog beat me over the fence.”
No offense. Pretense: incorporate comedy and film; common sense.
Suicide pushed aside, though I still burn inside. **** myself on
the page each day so my readers can feel what it’s like to be alive.
It’s okay to hide.
Only your own devil knows what’s inside.
I own mine; he’s my co-pilot when I write. My demonic side; my demonic scribe.
Flipping my words to the birds—‘cuz, you see, that’s how I wing it—and flipping the bird while I throw down and sing it:
“Tiger, Tiger, burning bright,
My words are my roar and tonight I write!”
The fights are in your sights like you were seated inside a movie theater;
You’d see Xander and Estella—wouldn’t you want to meet her—
Have a front row to the creatures in a feature presentation…
But ‘til then
Eat some Rice An’ read a piece by a man who
Had an “Interview with a Vampire”—
I’m a fiction author, why would I lie to ya?
Prince of lies? I ain’t Satan!
Close friends, but I’m Nathan.
Judged for appraisal—I’m priceless—I’m  nice: no; charming: yes.
Got a razor-sharp and Shining wit like a crown left
on a King… but not.
Why be a left king, when I’m a write god.

hot sun creepin long
be hours for cool evening comes
so we got to hang on for just a little longer
we just gotta *** down this mountain side
just gotta forge the steel
just gotta make it one more day
little further is all i can say
blind to all but the road its hard to tell
little further is all i can say

that night we rested in the lea of a shade tree
cookfire making shadows leap and play
while his soft song breached the stars and river too
so strong a soul hard to believe anything could lay him low
that night saw the truth of the man
had so much to give
but had no love in his life
had no destinations
pity thouse who live without love
thouse who live without hope
that night i saw the truth of the man
a good man who life had cheated

when dawn stirred me
found him cold in his blankets
he had passed away in the lonely night
so i buried him there by the beautiful river
there by the lovely gardens
found no beauty in life but i hope
he finds it in the everafter
saw the truth of the man
a good man who should have had
but had been denied
so i buried him like a king
in the beautiful gardens
by the peaceful river

Brass plays a sad tune
Over the motors of the pontoon.
I was lost; now I'm found
Rescued from
The dog pound

Mama! Mama! Go get a doctor!
Send forty days of rain
And a kettle of copper.
Ride that train! Hurry uptown!
That ol' blue norther's pourin'
At the dog pound

Well, it's hard to be humble
In this land by the sea
But it's so easy here to stumble,
Ain't it hard livin' free?
Hear that train? How sweet the sound...
That Burlington's a-blowin'
At the dog pound

Rally! Rally! Creepin' up the alley!
Rope that heifer! No slack on the dally!
Make her now become a cow
And milk the puppies
At the dog pound

And with the storm well on its way,
Back and forth the breakers sway;
Fools rush in, makin' their rounds,
But the muzzle has 'em puzzled
At the dog pound

I feel the Lavender Haze creepin' up on me
Surreal
I'm ****** if I do give a **** what people say
No deal
The 1950s **** they want from me
I just wanna stay in that Lavender Haze

---------------------------------------------------------------­-------------------------

This song has been really relatable to me because I've been in a relationship for the past 9 months
And I just want to stay in this mindset forever

making the left turn unto  Wilks ave. My steering wheel spins in my palm and
There...... on the park bench sits a red shirt and two more.

So I ease off the accelerator and squash the volume Bushwick Bill and Ghetto Boys drop low in the back seat..... Creepin.

Shirt #1 passed the dank to shirt #3 these simple ******* dont see me ......  stll creepin....shiney steel.
Locked and chambered

Shirt # 2 gets a glimpse as he takes a ****..... but now its bang bang ..... more red and chordite smoke.

R.I.P.

illusions soil damp with summer rain
we are silence creeping softly
in halflight carrying a farthings worth of sugar
for his bitter tea and stale buttery breads
our stealth footprints leaning to the shadows trail us
the thick scents of tilled earth
and the fresher faster scent of rain
turn to whisper your hush-now's and stifle the laughter
tis serious things afoot in the majestic night

seed lain with casual grunts
by the farmers son come of age
till foolish boy reckons what hes done
but storm riding in and no time to dawdle
bread in the basket and skittles in the cookfire
whats to be done whats to be done
he sweeps his mistakes aside and plows onward
like his pappy would have done

illusions soil fertile
and fools will take to heart any tale
so we have come sneakin' and creepin'
to harvesting our due
in halflight carrying a farthings worth of sugar
for his bitter teas and stale buttery breads
feed the fools mind with all manner of delusion
and while we sit and sup in the heavenly scented field
the thick scents of tilled earth
and the fresher faster scent of rain
he will be singing and dancing a madwoman's jig
under a lunatic moon

Chorus:
Back to the Mud! (the roar of the crowd is the beasts only food)
( The ****** Nine eyes shinin', I'm up to no good!,)
Back to the Mud!(fear starts as a trickle then you're drowned in the flood)
-I'LL BATHE IN YOUR BLOOD!

Feel the trickle of Fear in your bones take hold,
proudly I walk with my eyes Hell cold,
to the centre-a circle o' shields in the grass,
some young buck tryin to keep the hole in his ****,
dropping straight out from under him,
no wonderin-
why? you're gonna DIE cos your mouth got blunderin'
SNAP! steel trap,cause you got me skin creepin'-thinkin...
would you plant a blade while I'm sleepin'?
now you're just a seed,and this field you'll be deep in,
hold the shields up, everybody brace up,
don't hold the line-then my blades in your face up-
to the hilt, try not get kilt,
when the Nine's off the chain there'll be much blood spilt,
its Ambrosia,Ecstasy-my mother's milk,
I'll be be swimmin' in it soon,warms skin like silk...as for you(heheheheh)-you're goin

Back to the Mud! (the roar of the crowd is the beasts only food)            
( ****** Nine I'm Malign and I'm up to no good!,)
Back to the Mud!(fear started as a trickle now you're drowned in the flood)
-I'LL BATHE IN YOUR BLOOD!

I've killed Named Men-Feared men from North and South,
a little runnel of **** runnin' off at the mouth,
wouldn't usually rouse up the beast in my chest,
but now I'm back -you'll be soon on yours gettin' blessed-
you can pray for the day to sway and go your way,
but "ya gotta be realistic" I always say,
you've less chance than a snowflake kissin' a Forge,
as I go to my work on ya-the crowds gorge
rises as one, feel the kiss of of the sun,
on your face...tick tick...time freezes in place,
(as the cold in my soul drifts out to my fingers,
it always happens to me-time just lingers) ,
I start remembering then I start SCREAMING,
Friends,Wife Family-Insides Steaming,
used to be man now they whisper "a DEMON"
hand in a fire don't question the Burnin'-It's time to go...

Back to the Mud! (the roar of the crowd is the beasts only food)            
( ****** Nine's in the Line and I'm up to no good!,)
Back to the Mud!(fear starts as a trickle now you're drowned in the flood)
-I'LL BATHE IN YOUR BLOOD!



Axe blade swoops past me as I fade through,
like a ghost of the mist sinnin' skin clad blue,
while yours-soon RED,then soon DEAD,
wind chimes whistle through the holes in your head,
as I start giggling you stare frightened,
The Titan inside me starts ridin' the Lightnin'
skin steamin' heat Volcanic,
channellin' Hellions as Sheep start to panic
blind terror in the face of blind rage,
Built my crew up from Heroes who've marched off the page
of the History books, some fell to left hooks,
the rest I tore lumps out of til they gave up...
(why did I hold my last blow those ten comrades over?
when since then I've set good friends pushin' up clover?)
I'm the Red Rover rangin' your skin is my hood,
won't be happy til someone gets lucky and puts me right BACK IN THE MUD

The risk of takin' time to begin mendin' a broken and frozen heart is it could stop its natural rhythmic beatin' at any given moment, without adequate warnin'
Matter of fact it's bound to happen like global warmin', that's the only endin' found followin' right on the heels of drownin'
Any other prediction goin' 'round is only white noise background sound of them denyin' and rewritin' facts, specializin' in turnin' backs and bold face lyin'
I constantly find myself suffocatin' in my own skin like it's a plastic bag grippin' my face, compression at the neck, not lettin' air in
Debatin' whether or not to go all in and fight this overpowered and undefeated depression with persistence and medication, maybe some meditation and self reflection
Or should I just go ahead and give in again, puttin' in little to no effort to change the end into somethin' worth strivin' for, will there even be someone there lookin' forward to me arrivin'?
This is not pretend or manipulation, basically I'm forfeitin' due to exhaustion and frustration, handin' over the rains, just givin' my inner demon the win
I'm sick and tired of bein' tired and sick, gettin' beaten, pickin' myself up just to start takin' the walk of shame back to some new beginnin'
Plus, spoiler alert, I already know the final boss battle in this surreal engine is just gonna be against myself, once again
Same as its always been, it's not about to start changin' now, no amount of trainin' or preparation' will stop this from happenin'
Like the programer guy and I are playing a side game of chicken, he's got nothin' to lose, I've already lost everythin' holdin' out for a win that's never comin', never a celebration
I'll die if I don't keep moving 'cause I can see the next hardship comin', it's ******' gainin' on me quickly and I don't have a remedy or solution so, tail between legs, I start runnin'
I'm noticin' the **** selection, nothing good comes from either decision especially if you're plannin' on bringin' logic in as part of the equation, it should help but it's only a complication
And I'm forced to pick a direction without knowin' the destination or what I'll be facin' or what's waitin' for me at the finish lines location
Even without an imagination as dark as mine you can see its a risky expidition with low to no expectation of finishin'
Hope diminishin' past salvation, straight to damnation and a bitter end
Death awaits every person ever born, he's never missed one and I won't be the exception, it's the when I'm questionin', on my knees prayin', shiftin' seamlessly into beggin'
In one hand I could win the battle that's ragin' in between my ears, lord knows I'm tired of listenin'
On the other hand I lose the war, therefore there's no reason for even tryin', no goin' back to the beginnin', no rewindin'
I'm left nursin' a wound that's turned into an infection and its quickly spreadin', entertainin' the thought of idle hand amputation
Don't need to be an open heart surgeon, it's already been broken twice and put on ice, I'll just rip it out then hold it up for all to see before it completely stops pulsatin'
The fixation has never been on fixin' anythin' but rather dodgin' any situation that'll get me lookin' within
Possibly havin' to acknowledge I might not be worth savin', is that me speakin' or my shoulder devil at it again'?
It's gettin' harder and harder to tell the difference, both soundin' the same, the blurred line causes confusin'
I know the notion of what I'm sayin' isn't easy to comprehend much less believe in
And that's the reason why I've bottled every emotion and set them floatin' out in the vast ocean
To keep me from bein' a burden to anyone but one person, you're lookin' at him and I lie and say it's workin'
I don't know what I was thinkin' not takin' this more serious from the beginnin'
It's been ruinin' my life's mission, runnin' up a tab of bad karma that I'm gonna wind up payin'
Stoppin' all forward motion by keepin' me frightened to the point I've given up on fightin'
The results are in and it's unsettlin', I now only seem to be nothin' but a punchin' bag for Satan and his legion
I'm startin' to come undone at the seams and it seems like no one's carin' but I don't know what else I was expectin'
I could've predicted that with precision like I have the ability to be time travelin'
Knowin' for certain what the future is bringin' but I'm just goin' off of every previous lesson that left a lastin' impression
But still not seein' the big picture, fussin' over the small **** like somethin' on the roof of my mouth I can't stop tonguin'
Wastin' precious time that I could've been usin' to at least soften the blow I know is creepin' up, comin' 'round the bend with the collection plate to put my fate in
But again, I can't stop the regression long enough to gain traction, a continuation of my downward trend, market value crashin', free fallin' with no parachute or safety net to protect my noggin
I don't give myself permission to feel anythin' other than self derogation
Sleep deprivation has my dreams fadin', countin' one sheep, two sheep, ****, the rest have gone missin'
I'm left pickin' myself up and dustin' myself off, brushin' my own well bein' to the side, out of sight, out of mind, keep it hidden
All lefts, no right to weigh in even though it's my life my thoughts are playin' with, throwin' caution to the wind
And now that I'm broken beyond repair I get tossed into the compost bin lettin' somethin' else grow from me decomposin'
A form of reincarnation at worst, at best, a place to finally get some much needed rest in'
I'm no longer invested in livin', hell, I'll even sign my own death certificate, give me a pen

©2022

Hear me out lately
Ya know the dark storm is coming
it's closing out the lighted sky
without a sound
yeah the beast is a rumblin
through the thunder hear his cries
challenging me to fight
and I won't pass it down

Yeah he won't spin me around
the devil is on my back
and I find
I'm weak and blind when he attacks
and sometimes
I give in to temptress gaze
releasing reason to the animal's instinct

Listen close baby
hear my guitar strumming
whisper off the tainted words
like it's not a crime
yeah here he comes a creepin
binding down the house
collapsing all of the walls
twisted down to the ground

Yeah he won't spin me around
the devil is on my back
and I find
I'm weak and blind when he attacks
and sometimes
I give in to temptress gaze
releasing reason to the animal's instinct

Oh you can slither all you want inside
but I will never let you out
contain the burning blades I seek to sacrifice
though it causes all the pain and scars
that toughen out my hide
the stronger I become to hold on through the night
I will never die...

Yeah he won't spin me around
the devil is on my back
and I find
I'm weak and blind when he attacks
and sometimes
I give in to temptress gaze
releasing reason to the animal's instinct
reflecting seasons into the end of days