Every drop of blood slaves shed
beneath the lash and rod
was repaid in kind at Sharpsburg
by the terrible swift sword.
Twenty three thousand Sacrificed
in joint sanquinity
to debate the principle
that all men should live free.
At Burnside's bridge,
on the sunken road,
The Landscape dripping red.
The wounded called for water
as they lay among the dead.
At the Whitewashed Dunker church
the Dutchmen stood agog
as the fearful toll was paid
by brave souls on either side.

Don't name drop __, they wanna hear your name drop
I know you're *******, but that won't make the pain stop
Your friends are in battles too, thats why they pop,
Rethink this, this isn't something you should adopt
They say fight fire with fire, but if life so cold
Where do you find it to inspire and fight the new with the old
Drown out the night
But I can't drown out the knight
In ****** armor on the mic
Mi amor that I spite

Sippin on *** 'n monster hoping I don't go bonkers
Yonkers playing in the background as I ponder
and let my mind wander
Wonder why I'm squandering the time,
I could be making money and conquer
But my psyche doesn't concur, because life is somber
And I stay up thinking I can make the next Midnight Marauders
It's 4 am and I'm wishing life was longer
Eyes set on the calendar because our time is numbered
Thundering white Walter, water drips from the ceiling of my bunker
Bombs bombard it, I'm surprised I'm not drunker off this alter
I'm on a pedistal and my perception has altered
Now my personality has a septum, a couple I can use as fodder
Hopefully I can find a mentor to call me his grasshopper
Much needed like a jumper for this one-dimensional dunker
Drumming up my sadness like it's not like any other
You can throw shade, but I can make your day brighter

I'm a lot of things, but mostly a warhawk with synesthesia.
The sight of my enemies dropping is like symphonies, analgesia.
No mother, no father, your little boy isn't going through schizophrenia
That's just what's needed for me reach euforia
If I cut it up, rinse my face and change it to not seem displaced
I can cut a deal with my friend and maybe get me something laced
Wait, this isn't the time and place, don't be your own disgrace
Grace was your safeguard, no need to kick up the pace

Pacemakers for the worried, just incase
Peacemaker at heart, man I try to embrace

kolde fingre,
der glider over den kolde skærm
skriver, hentyder,
prøver at få dig til at give mig mit fix,
opmærksomhed, kærlighed
og som de kolde fingre,
hurtigt glider over den kolde skærm,
i takt med de snavsede høje hæler virrer sig fortabt over brostenene,
så spørger jeg mig selv, om det er for meget
for stalker, for desperat,
men gør det alligevel
gør alt for at få et fix,
opmærksomhed, kærlighed,
et kram, ***,
håber på det bliver til mere,
så fixet bliver dagligt,
og ikke bare en løsning,
når alkoholen dunker i venerne,
når spillet er tabt,
når brækken er i toiletten,
og ham den anden i byen

In the early 21st century this is when time
really started to go backwards and the attack on the constitution laid the foundation for the TeA pArTY,
and other corporate fascists. Too much to the right our
nation starts" GOOSE STEPPING".


And Uncle Sam sat on a very narrow
conservative wall.
And the King of heartless ( Bush ) ordered,
" OFF WITH YOUR HEAD" without just cause to a sandy
world of black-gold.
And all three nations were written up as
the Axis of "Jabberwockey".
And Wonderland's scared caterpillar colored red, orange,and so on, sat upon an imagined poison mushroom cloud.
And Tweedly Dee; Teedly Rummy,
gave quick cheap armor ( of course to fight some of the Jabberwockey) from a quickened "Rummy Dummy",
the slam dunker.
And the MAD HATER of people went
DUCK -YOUR -HEAD oil haunting
And "Cheshire Cat smiles ( Bush again ) was taken
at phony opts.
And we majority of Alices tried
making sense of this new "Wonderland" as Constitutional,
law backers were considered bad-and in mirror reversable-
so too International Law backers.
And good was this unconstitutional
main war-knight  (Bush again ) always WORD bumbling,
war stumbling, falling and failing off his Trojan horse.
And still us Alices are in this-now current-perpetual
land of MIRRORED-IMAGE-REVERSAL.
Tune in next time for our great escape
from this forcefully adopted land of horrid wonder.
Maybe if we tapped our shoes three times...Oops wrong tale.

måske det er det vi er,
weekendalkoholikere
måske vi elsker det,
bassen, der overdøver vores eget hjerteslag,
bassen, der dunker mere end vores tanker,
smagen af sprit, og røgen der hænger i tøjet
tænder den ene cigaret med den sidste,
ryger, drikker, danser,
danser det hele væk,
håber på at svingende hofter og klamme blikke,
kan slette det hele,
drikker måske for at glemme,
eller måske for at huske
men kan man kurere en sygdom med en anden,
for hvad hjælper det at vi drikker os fra vores sanser,
og gemmer os bag billeder så slørede som livet,
når vi i virkeligheden har bræk på skoene,
og tomme pakker i vores tomme lommer

måske det er det vi er,
weekendalkoholikere
måske vi elsker det,
måske ikke
måske det bare er hvem vi er,
syge mennesker,
der lader som om vi har det sjovt,

Du dunker under min hud
som små hemmelige hjertesalg
Du dukker op i min drøm
som en farlig fantasi
Du drager mine øjne
som kun den vildeste natur
Du har brædt dig fast
et sted jeg slet ikke kender

se på mig i mængden, se mig danse og skråle med.
læg mærke til hvor meget glæde jeg ynder at beherske.
bemærk hvor frembrusende min personlighed er,
når jeg har blot en smule alkohol i blodet.
se mig, se hvordan jeg griner og nyder opmærksomheden.
jeg hvirvler rundt om mig selv, lukker øjnene
jeg nyder musikken, og alkoholen der dunker i mine ører
jeg bilder mig selv ind at jeg er så glad, jeg er en lyslevende stjerne
men jeg spejder hastigt efter dit blik engang imellem,
håber du lægger mærke til mig
jeg håber så inderligt du ser hvor sjovt jeg har det uden dig
og trods jeg har bemærket at du ikke betragter mig mere
så bliver jeg endelig ved
selvom det stikker i maven, det prikker i min hud
ja, selvom du ikke bemærker mig den mindste smule
så kaster jeg hovedet tilbage og synger så højt jeg kan
se på mig.
se hvor glad jeg er uden dig

Immediately after I
Fetched my salary
From a Bank
When I get drunk
Getting into a bar,
From my home not far,
No longer subject
To my inhibition
I become bold
To make an
Open breast of my love
To my inaccessible dove,
For on such state
I become easily capable
My financial challenges
And physical appearance
Anxieties to dissolve.

I crunch her number
Getting no answer
"U R Z best Chick
On earth! "
I SMS her
But go not any further.
It is early in the morning
I ask myself
"What possibly could
Be her feeling! "

Also into a bar
When I make
A divine entrance
To rub shoulders
With colleagues
I stand a chance
Or above them
On the ladder of success
A bit advance.

Also when at night
When I see
Pub's dazzling light
My timidity
No longer in place
Myself assertiveness
Proceeds apace!

Also I bet
Alcohol, dunker's pet
To tension management
Has some effect.

On the morrow
It is when I get
Out of pocket
My spendthrift bent
I regret.

Aside from my health
Going downhill,
I am becoming
Incapable to foot
Electric and water bill.

Tipsy, at times
Blunt, for a fight
I begin to hunt.///

best opening track? slipknot's (sic).

bear with me, i'm reaching the peak
of tipsy and the english
humour (sarcasm) is coming out
in full bloom & swing...
well you know... it had to happen
one way or the other...
point being: i never understood
nor will i understand the concept
of... *boredom...
        the ****** thing just flew right
over my head, scalping me
while it did its predatory swoop...
nope, still don't get it (what if now
only scrathing my skull
evem though it's not itchy) -
      now, if you told me:
whatch'ah up to? nothing.
        i can understand that crystal clear,
boredom though? i have no
idea how to approach that
"disclaimer" with regards to someone's
"procrastination": people who are
"bored" usually procrastinate,
don't they? and my guess is that they're
probably of an extrovert disposition,
right?
    boredom i can never fathom,
every time i'm "bored", my memory
plays the trick of asking me to the cinema
and i see my life flashing before my eyes
without ever falling off a bridge
with only a second to spare being
allowed the sigma-of-consciousness...
     *******, nothing beats home-made
wine 3 years old...
   ****'s feeling groooooo V,
   ha ha, hmm, hmm, ha ha! the giggles....
plonker doing a dunker -
well... that rhymes, doesn't it?
nope... boredom? can't conceive the precious
space of my mind worth entertaining
this dynamic...
     now...
   i can understand what doing
nothing is like... ****** hard...
     itchy ***, itchy scalp, itchy arm-pits,
itchy whatever...
    but then again, when you acknowledge
you're doing nothing, and aren't bored...
you can be super-busy watching ants;
or? notably sparrows...
                                   a.d.h.d. per se.