"flack" poems
Odes to Coffee, a Haiku, a Limerick, and a Verse
Coffee, Coffee Nod
Coffee, Coffee, Coffee Yawn
One cup down, talk now
Coffee, coffee, coffee
Coffee, Coffee, coffee
Everyone shut up
Please refill my cup
Coffee, Coffee, Coffee
Coffee, Coffee yay
Coffee, Coffee hey
Let me take a drink to jumpstart my day
Off to work we go to earn some needed pay
Be a real man and drink it black
Or make it all fancy and catch some flack
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 6:21 PM UTC
There are disrespectful children, who shows you no respect. They walk around in pride, thinking they are "all that."
There is no respect for those who's in authority. They gamble on the side, looking for a fee.
There are disrespectful children, always ready to fight. They just don't have a conscience, to do the things that's right.
There are disrespectful children, who love to talk back. All you receive from them, is a whole lot of flack.
There are disrespectful children, all into what they wear. To ask them to do a good deed, they just do not care.
By, Sandra Juanita Nailing
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 1:45 PM UTC
Hanging on to each day, trying to sustain,
as a spider on a web hanging by a thread.
Weaving our way through time and pain
left to hang by lovers, life and death.
Making my way through life;
strength and power of spirit take their leave.
“Be brave, chin up”, all clichés borne out of ignorance…
what do they know of me?
Each must travel this journey on our own terms.
No flack jackets to spare us from hearts shot through by pain,
no maps to guide our way.
We stand; alone, vulnerable and lost.
Where is the one to guide me on the right path
through showers of pain and cobwebs that bind?
Let me see through this to a future of love and life.
Let me see you.
Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 9:33 AM UTC
When you go out and hear a person that say
" I Could Give A Rats ***
that's when you step up to them and say just two words to them: "MICKEY MOUSE"
When you see that Commercial with the Duck :
You gotta Repeat
"A FLACK"
When you see a Security Guard wearin Mickey Mouse ears,
What do you sing out when you need help?
" M.I.C.K.E.Y M.O.U.S.E
Mickey Mouse ohoo hoo,
Mickey Mouse:
**** Funky Security Guard.
Mar 21, 2010
Mar 21, 2010 at 11:00 PM UTC
Flick a flack fleck--that sound again
Makes me smile every now and then
Each drop always soothes my palm
It always makes me so calm
Ah!I love to hear it sing
It touches me with its ring
Flick a flack fleck--that sound again
Makes me smile every now and then.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 5:59 AM UTC
Another late-in-the-day
Same way
Such a shame
No sweat
Going sane
Don't fret
Never tame
Heat of the moment
Something potent
Brings me back
Nostalgic flack
Heavy with a boost of fullness
Coolness
Cutting to the bone
'Til the sun hath shone
A freighter of light
Crashing down to land
Superman, Superman!
The end is near
The end is here
The time to drive is over
The bunkers and the shelters all hung over
Heat brimming with its closeness
Waves of air swimming with its force
Light to blind
The fickle mind
That caved straight in the moment it was given time
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 11:29 PM UTC
Somethin' about an empty room, depending on how the light asks to be let in on its edges.
An empty room don’t expect you to do nothin' whatever. And its floor responds in this kinda lilting relief when you tap-dance barefoot upon it.
If you sit in all its corners, with your eyeballs (try it!) you can trace the refractions and suggestions on the wall, 'specially the places where paint and odd plaster stick up like little men and cast shadows all their own.
You can spend hours doing this.
You, the impressionable film upon which the world's projected herself—you turn the world upside down and make sense of the image in this empty box.
You
Make art here.
Shout here! Run and kick and punch through the walls and
Love them as you do so, kid.
Something about emptiness itself, gets a lot of flack, you think,
cast as grave.
Hell!
Emptiness: potential,
Emptiness: casting being in sharp distinction.
Emptiness: sensual, like breath before the
action of the human magnetic.
You: the one alive in this your empty room and therefore acutely aware of
what you chose to project in such vibrant relief.
Today, it is newspapers and magazine clippings and a notebook and a blue pen and a book by Susan Sontag.
Today you lie on the woody floor, supine, eyes wide
and become part of it
your lungs breathe life into this ancient emptiness. And the air between its walls vibrates, and sighs, nascent, ‘thank you.’
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 3:01 PM UTC
You're my heroes
you showed me that I'm strong
even when put down,
or when I'm hurt or wrong
You're brave,
risking your life in order to save
13 weeks of hell
blood, horror and flack jackets
an honored purple heart
you helped me come out of my shell
I'm proud to call you my family
my relatives, my blood.
going through a calamity
from Paris Island Soldiers to Vietnam Vets
You're Marines.
One day I'll stand in my dress blues
proudly walk through the door
fresh out the corp
I'll have stories for my children,
and I'll watch the military channel with my dad
but first I'll disregard death staring me in the face
and the sudden urge run
and I'll put up gun
and aim for the dream
of being an American Marine.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 8:38 AM UTC
Honor. Valor. Dignity. Love.
Honor. Valor. Dignity. Love.
Three things amaze me
Four I do not understand
An eagle in the sky
A snake on a rock
A ship on the high seas
And the way of a man with a young woman
Honor. Valor. Dignity. Love.
I will always take the fall, I say
And I won't push back when you push me away
I will take the flack of a full frontal attack
And I will turn the other cheek when you slap me across the face
But I will not be known as meek!
For to be meek is to be mild
And to be mild is to be tasteless, flavorless, and vile
Devoid of passion
Crawling with passivity
Embodying all that is apathy but trying to pass it off as some kind of charity
If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you for even sinners do that well,
Try loving the ones you'd rather see burning in hell
BUT IT CANNOT BE DONE
If you agree say aye,
I, think you're just too afraid to try
Well blessed are the meek,
for the will inherit the earth
Blessed are the peacemakers
for they will be called children of God
Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you, and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me
But I'll be tossin' temple tables and chasin' people out with whips and cables
If they say my God is not able
For a city built on a hill cannot be hidden
And a man under God cannot be smitten
So I claim the love and grace in which I have been placed
And I claim the calling into which I am falling
And when the enemy comes a calling
I raise my sword in the air and boldly declare
DEVIL THIS HEART HAS NO ROOM FOR YOU TO SPARE
FOR MY GOD IS SO GREAT IT'S NOT EVEN FAIR
SO PACK UP YOUR TRICKS AND TEMPTATIONS AND TOYS
FOR GOD HAS MADE A MAN OUT OF THIS FRAIL LITTLE BOY
He said YOU are the salt of the earth but if the salt loses its saltiness it is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled under foot
So I take hold of love and grace
And I proclaim the name of the one holding me firmly in place
I lay waste to the lies replaced by fear in mine enemies eyes
And lift my hands up high
Honor. Valor. Dignity. Love.
Surely I am only a brute, not a man
I do not have human understanding
I have not learned wisdom
Nor have I attained to the knowledge of the Holy One
But I know I have found the truth.
And I will not let go.
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 10:42 PM UTC
~
**LIVIN' IS A CRIME
THE DOLLAR'S WORTH A DIME
LOCAL GOVERNMENT
LANDLORD WANTS THE RENT
THE I. R. S.
SAYS THEY GET THE REST**
***IT'S A RAT RACE
ARE YOU A MEMBER OF THE RAT RACE
KEEPIN' WITH THE FAST PACE
WOOO, OOO, OOOO, OO, RAT RACE***
**WORKIN' NINE TO FIVE
JUST TO STAY ALIVE
STABBIN' IN THE BACK
CATCHIN' ALL THE FLACK
INTEREST RATES AND LOANS
KEEPIN' UP WITH JONES**
***IT'S A RAT RACE
ARE YOU A MEMBER OF THE RAT RACE
KEEPIN' WITH THE FAST PACE
WOOO, OOO, OOOO, OO, RAT RACE***
REPEAT CHORUS
WOOO, OOO, OOOO, OO, RAT RACE
RAT RACE WOOO, OOO, RAT RACE
RAT RACE
RAT RACE
written by
Warner Baxter
One Knight Stand Productions
Under A Tangerine Sky Entertainment
Phoenix Arizona 2010
all rights reserved
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 5:56 AM UTC
The Marines
The Few, The Proud
The Brave, the Courageous
Disciplined, Proper
From Paris Island Soldiers to Vietnam Vets
Its a position for freedom
a job for the fearless
Protecting our country day in and day out
1992 to 1994
Dads unit secured naval ships
sweat, tears and will power
guns blazing with 875 rounds a minute
1966 to 1968
His dad served in Vietnam
blood, gore and gunshots
flack jackets, an honored purple heart
learn to **** and not get killed
and never proffer anything less than the best
you’re there to out stand and defend
to honor, to provide
One day I’ll be standing here, in my dress blues
with my hair neatly slicked back, tight in a bun
I’ll have stories to tell my children
and I’ll watch the Military channel with my father
but first
I’ll learn to disregard the fear
of death staring you in the face
or the sudden urge to run
then I’ll wonder,
putting up my gun, aiming, and shooting for my dreams
of being an American Marine
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 10:01 AM UTC
My great-grandmother lived in a time when if you sang too loudly in a public place
Such as on the bus
With no audible music anyone else could hear
You were thrown away
Reported by the sanest of citizens
Locked away in the mental ward of Bellevue Asylum
By your own family
She was an alcoholic
Well, she was Italian
As was that whole part of my family
And Italians like wine
And she liked her wine
Maybe a little bit too much
My grandfather said that by six o'clock
Everyone in the house was screaming
Throwing things
Alcohol-tinged, infant-like fits
The lot of them
Drunk
Every night of the year
But my great-grandmother
She was the only one who carried her drink
In a little metal flask
Tucked in her ragged coat
Took it with her on the bus
On the way to work at a hotel
Where people with enough money
To boost the world's economy
Slept, ate and yelled at her
For forgetting to put a mint on their pillow once
But she just hummed away
Took the flack with a smile
Sipped her poison
And rode the bus back to work
The next day
Drunk
Singing
La Donna e' Mobile
One day though
Her brothers caught up to her
As she was boarding that bus
She was singing again
And smiled
Asked them what they were doing there
And they looked at her
Smiled
And smacked her
They threw her in their car
And took her to Bellvue
In 1947
When the idea of mental health
Was shrouded in ignorance
And scrutiny
And the word "medicine"
Meant electric-shocks to the brain
Submerging in below freezing
Ice-tanks
And
Fiddling around
In people's brains
Through their eye-sockets
With screwdrivers
"Lobotomies"
My grandfather was born in 1945
He was only two when they took his mother away
And only three
When they told him she died
Rotting in the asylum
Experiments done to her
That my family will never know the nature of
Never know how much pain
She ****** up
Never know if the cause of death
Was actually "cirrhosis of the liver"
Or
An officially administered
Botched
Brain-fuck
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 11:27 AM UTC
The Marines
The Few, The Proud
The Brave, the Courageous
Disciplined, Proper
From Paris Island Soldiers to Vietnam Vets
Its a position for freedom
a job for the fearless
Protecting our country day in and day out
1992 to 1994
Dads unit secured naval ships
sweat, tears and will power
guns blazing with 875 rounds a minute
1966 to 1968
His dad served in Vietnam
blood, gore and gunshots
flack jackets, an honored purple heart
learn to **** and not get killed
and never proffer anything less than the best
you’re there to out stand and defend
to honor, to provide
One day I’ll be standing here, in my dress blues
with my hair neatly slicked back, tight in a bun
I’ll have stories to tell my children
and I’ll watch the Military channel with my father
but first
I’ll learn to disregard the fear
of death staring you in the face
or the sudden urge to run
then I’ll wonder,
putting up my gun, aiming, and shooting for my dreams
of being an American Marine
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 7:15 PM UTC
In an age of persecution
When Christians died
For their beliefs
Apostle John wrote
Revelation
To encourage and
Bring relief
First century folk
Who held Jesus' tenants
Were martyred in
Most horrid ways
But John wrote about
His coming
Christ described the
End of Days.
The early faithful
Found their solace
In the Gospel
Sweet & pure
The Bible's WORD
Was ever spoken
And its precepts
Still endure
Modern man cannot
Believe it
Because he has
A hardened heart
But when tribulation
Finds him
Rest assured he'll come apart!
So we put our trust in Jesus?
IS He simply "fairy tale"?
Why did Christians
Sing their hearts out
When lit on fire and impaled?
How could they endure
Having their heads drilled
Molten lead then poured within?
How could could they
Be so calm & joyous
When lions tore them
Limb from limb?
Their contemporaries
Could not believe it!
When Christ was preached
It was received!
The Gospel forwarded
By each man dying
By their blood
The folk believed!
Now Christian people
Won't mention Jesus!
They give sin a little wink!
They're afraid of persecution
By caring what the
Lost may think!
Wake up, folks!
The toast is burning!
Give witnessing
The college try!
There are hearts
Who're out there yearning!
Cap'n Crunch waves us goodbye!
I may get flack
For this assertion
I may get comments
For to spare
I may get called
A backward person
People... I don't really care!
If I don't warn of
God's Judgment
Tribulations in this land
I'm not a Watchman on
The Wall here
And
your blood is on my hands!
I'll read & preach
From Revelation
The ending always
Helps us cope
Read the outcome
Of our suffering
It will give ETERNAL HOPE.
SøułSurvivør
(C) 9/27/2017
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 1:41 AM UTC
***livin' is a crime
the dollar's worth a dime
local government
landlord wants the rent
the I. R. S.
says they get the rest***
(bridge)
wooo, ooo, oo rat race, Oooooo ooo it's a rat race
***working nine to five
just to stay alive
stabbin' in the back
catchin' all the flack
interest rates and loans
keepin' up with Jones***
(chorus)
***wooo. ooo, oo rat race, Oooooo ooo it's a rat race
are you a member of the rat race
keepin' with the fast pace
wooo, ooo, oo rat race***
***the dollar's worth a dime
livin' is a crime
just to stay alive
workin' nine to five
landlord wants the rent
D.C. government
guess who gets the rest
the I. R. S.***
(chorus)
***wooo, ooo, oo rat race, Oooooo ooo it's a rat race
are you a member of the rat race
keepin' with the fast pace
wooo, ooo, oo rat race
wooo. ooo, oo rat race, Oooooo ooo it's a rat race
are you a member of the rat race
keepin' with the fast pace
wooo, ooo, oo rat race
wooo. ooo, oo rat race
Oooooo ooo it's a rat race
rat race
rat race
Oooooo ooo it's a rat race***
written by
Warner Baxter
One Knight Stand Productions
all rights reserved
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 10:37 AM UTC
I. Smoking
I can pull the feeling
Of my lungs burning
And throat sizzling
Into my mind and feel it
Even when it's not happening
And it's half yearning and half
Peaceful knowledge that
This is the most cowardly way to **** myself
And it's perfect for me
II. Stealing
It's not a thrill or
Anything like that
It's more like I'm entitled
To have these things I can't buy
Because I'm so sad and surely
Life owes me this
When it has failed me in everything else
III. ***
I get the most flack for the way
I love people with my body
I enjoy the intimate union
Of two bodies and souls
Feeling each other so closely
And forever tangling their two spirits
Together
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 5:07 PM UTC
Ramble shamble gamble preamble .
Wild child dialed beguiled .
Crawl small ; fall tall ; wall all ; mall brawl doll you all .
Black sack fact track Jack smack wack maniac pack . Back hack , knack
flack , lack kayak rack tack .
Phone roan tone zone bone hone ; drone known . Own moan loan .
Talk rock ; gawk hawk ; shock lock ; **** dock ; balk , stalk walk .
Bristling gristle glimmer glisten .
Quaint paint saint feint aint .
Expressed suppressed repressed biased .
Ecstatic emphatic fanatic .
Lecherous treacherous .
Obtuse abstruse .
Whirl curl ; hurl furl .
Test west quest ; jest guessed ; blessed best crest behest . Conquest ,
invest zest ; rest nest .
Cohort cavort . Gulch mulch .
Raven haven saven braven .
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 5:46 AM UTC
I bought an interocitor and put it in my phone
Now I'm getting messages from galaxies unknown
Klaatu said Gort is broken down and waiting for some parts
From beyond the outer limits, not found on any charts
The Borg said they'll assimilate, 'tis futile to resist
The Thing said it would vegetate upon my groc'ry list
Teenagers from outer space we're in the Twilight Zone
The Blob said it could split in half to make itself a clone
The Robinsons still lost in space, forevermore to roam
Outer space invading soon, and ET phoning home
Arrakis said the planet Earth must meet the Guild's demands
Or Dune would send its giant worms to eat Saharan sands
For fear we'll be invaded and my body snatched away
And all the dreadful thoughts I've had, it's time for me to say
I've put my cosmic calls on hold because, for what it's worth,
I'm getting all the flack I need from good old planet Earth.
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 3:57 PM UTC
ROBERTA FLACK LYRICS
Play Music
"Killing Me Softly With His Song"
Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
I heard he sang a good song
I heard he had a style
And so I came to see him
To listen for a while
And there he was this young boy
A stranger to my eyes
Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
I felt all flushed with fever
Embarassed by the crowd
I felt he found my letters
And read each one out loud
I prayed that he would finish
But he just kept right on
Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
He sang as if he knew me
In all my dark despair
And then he looked right through me
As if I wasn't there
And he just kept on singing
Singing clear and strong
Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
[Break]
Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me
He was strumming my pain
Yeah, he was singing my life
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly
With his song
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 8:01 PM UTC
Ah didny recognise him fae the eulogy.
The meenister'd nivver met the lad, Ah could see.
A hero? Aye, mibbe. Jist a name tae maist ay these fowk.
But ah kent im as a boay,
the daft wee scapegoat, ayewis in boather,
but nae real hairm in im.
He wis the lad wha'd get skelped, the noise
makkin the teacher turn is heid
jist in time tae spot im skelpin back.
Mairched tae the heidie again.
"Yir a bad lot, Barry.
Yir faither wis a bad lot too."
Puir Baz.
Da in the jile,
Ma aff her face on smack,
an him, daft, funny, doomed.
If onybody at hame had cared enough
tae keep the schuil photies,
they'd have shown a wee freckly laddie
wi a too-open grin,
year eftir year,
jersey gettin tattier,
teeth getting gappier,
still grinnin while the rest ay us
were far too cool tae smile for the camera.
Ah liked im.
Didny unnerstaun how the teachers
were sae ***** tae im.
There wis far badder boays in the year.
Ricky ****** Jackson - a nasty, sleekit wee body,
yankin ab'dy's strings.
But his da wis rich
an the teachers fawned ower im.
No Baz, though.
Cannon fodder, richt enough.
Tackin the flack fir the rest ay us.
Exactly the kind ay lad
the ******* Army thrives on.
Ah canny feel the patriotic pride,
canny picture the self-sacrifice,
the heroism.
Ah can juist see im,
daft an grinnin,
daein whit he wis tellt
an gettin killt.
Mind you,
he wis aye headin for the poppies, that yin,
One wey
or anither.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 6:08 AM UTC
So lethargic
Victim of calumny
Ruptured appendix
Constantly rebuked
On the pursuit of happiness
Receiving flack
So pusillanimous
Looking for something cathartic
Fight with yourself
When your're your own worst enemy
Leaving everyone scratching their heads
And hanging on every word
Smoke 'em if you got 'em
First impressions are my worst impressions
Bad decisions and fallen angels
Pedantic stipulations
Derogatory semantics
Fight with yourself
When your're your own worst enemy
Leaving everyone scratching their heads
And hanging on every word
Smoke 'em if you got 'em
Review the glossary
Check the index
It's a lost cause
The cut throat is fighting
The masked wrestler on a tugboat
They're both wearing Hawaiian shirts
Fight with yourself
When your're your own worst enemy
Leaving everyone scratching their heads
And hanging on every word
Smoke 'em if you got 'em
-Tommy Johnson
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 7:15 PM UTC
Despite the right to spite the far away
Of only what I know is nothing as a word
Only what I know is everything as a meaning
******** **** in this early morn
******** love of that metal music
ENOUGH OF THIS (will make you crazy)
Heterosinea contractual echinacea of aviary actual sack attack
ATTACKING SACK INSIDE A RACK O' FLACK
FLACK BOMbardment of horse willed ensnarement
Wiley wicker writhing in illness
Loose found youtube through fool rude nudes
Useful contraptions trap attraction for creative adoration and many more "things"
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 9:26 AM UTC
words are just wonders
one
can release,
but only one's pen
could ever crease
into the safety
of a poem's lease.
so this
is
a
note
to
a
pen.
"
Oh,
draw
Your line
And never
Look back
From those
inked words
that flow
from
your
clack
and
let
them
flow
into
sharp
flack.
or maybe
give words
that proper,
warm embrace
which can get
lullabies fall
into disgrace.
or maybe just
draw a perfect
dark contour
playing with
edges that
make sights
demure...
add dots
and spots
on plain
white
paper,
like
living
knots
in the
hands
of a
draper.
pour
some
more
ink
on
me.
"
May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 5:29 AM UTC
Marley Brando
So many options,
can’t say too many options,
but honestly what do you do,
when even too much is not enough,
“What?”,
“Were you saying something?,
I feel like I’m in a dream,
I’m asking for affirming,
because I don’t feel a thing…”,
You stare at me with those infinite eyes,
“I feel exactly the same way.”,
then you shift your gaze,
and stare off for eternity,
as that fire inside keeps burning me,
something simmering inside is burning me,
anxious and pacing,
all out of patience,
feeling like a Patient in a Psycho-Ward society,
yes I’m fine so please don’t bother me,
I won’t sign over royalties and no I don’t need notoriety,
I’ll leave that for the words,
and all the flabby flack from the flock of ruffle feathered haters,
waiting in the wings I fly by & leave that for the Birds,
word word word,
words are what we scribe as a Writer of The Times,
words to explain when I’m gone,
words to explain when we’re gone,
when the memories have all faded,
because unless a Tyrant burns the books,
we’ll have our history scribed onto these pages,
lopsided but liberated,
feeling like a rat in a cage,
or a canary in a coalmine,
consumed with the thought to “Just get way.”,
just get away,
I’m already gone anyways,
don’t be fooled by this shell of a body,
I’ve been through Hell so now I’m in The Hills where I party,
Heaven can wait I’m on the Guest-List anyways so I won’t have to waste time at The Gate,
ready to party,
with Jim Morrison and Bob Marley,
and Brando but no Commando,
yeah I’m talking to you Sylvester sorry,
Charlie,
Chaplin for certain,
Sheen well we’ll see,
Janis, Jackson, Kurt and,
Pac and it don’t stop,
does it,
what’s in,
your wallet,
Rest In Peace,
Christopher Wallace,
smoking a chalice,
on Cloud 9 with Marley Brando,
cool as an Ice Cream Sundae,
relaxing watching the world go bananas,
B-A-N-A-N-A-S,
shout out to Gwen,
Steph,
I spin around and ask,
“What is this,
I meanI know it sounds cliche,
but does any of this really exist?”,
“Oh and where’d my mind go?”,
So many options,
won’t say too many though,
but honestly what do you do,
when even too much is not enough?,
“What?”,
“Were you saying something?,
I feel like I’m in a dream,
I’m asking for affirming,
because I don’t feel a thing…”…
∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
author of 3 #1 Best Sellers,
& The Poetry Trilogy
∆
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 6:03 AM UTC
Are you ready, keep it steady
I got a secret I want to share
Turn the radio up, turn the radio up
I heard a rumour
That is going around
It seems I've copped a lot of flack
For my last lyrical attack
The word is out
Now there's no going back
Watch the mirror as it cracks, oh
I'm not sorry
I'm not sorry
I'm allowed to tell
my side of the story
I'm not sorry
I'm not sorry
No more keeping it inside
No more running
Nowhere left to hide
This emotional ocean
Just exploded
And I'm the volcano
Overflowing
I don't need any safety net
Because I'm standing on the edge
I'll take all the hate
I'll take all the blame
I'll take all the shame
I'll even take the pain
Eh this is my form of communication
Was never any good
at the small talk situation
This here is my outlet
This is when I'm in my mindset
I'm not sorry
I'm not sorry
I'm allowed to tell
my side of the story
I'm not sorry
I'm not sorry
No more keeping it inside
No more running
Nowhere left to hide
This emotional ocean
Just exploded
And I'm the volcano
Overflowing
I'm not taking any prisoners
I said I'll be letting loose
So maybe just don't go
and give me an excuse
To put you in my lyrics too
Maybe I was just a little mad
But I still don't feel bad
I needed to get it out of my system
Before my emotions caved in
Yeah maybe it was a bit too much
Maybe I hit a little bit hard
In the words that I wrote
That's just the road I chose to go
I'm not sorry
I'm not sorry
I'm allowed to tell
my side of the story
I'm not sorry
I'm not sorry
No more keeping it inside
No more running
Nowhere left to hide
This emotional ocean
Just exploded
And I'm the volcano
Overflowing
©2018 Written By Benji James
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 8:41 AM UTC