Wearing orange on that strangest of days,
a shrugged protest against the name.
Stepping over snakes curling around our feet
and kissing the world with blood on the teeth.
Hungover in the doctor's office wearing black eyes.
You know we know how to have the good times.
Drinking whiskey until the sun loses its shine
and the world will start to turn on our lies.
Hit the streets with a bottle in hand
after taking two shots in the bushes.
We take the sin in Jameson serious.
We know when to run from a good idea,
and we run, and we can run up a bar tab.
Silent souls, but we laugh out loud.
Snow melts into a mirror over silvery sidewalks.
Magazine girls splash around in green golashes.
We'll jump the fence and spin naked in the park.
Never say we didn't know how to make our mark.
Hit the streets with a bottle in hand
after taking two shots in the bushes.
We take the sin in Jameson serious.
We know when to run from a good idea,
and we run, and we can run up a bar tab.
Silent souls, we laugh out loud.
Contemplate all the possibilities in a car bomb.
You know we know how to have the fun.
Torn pants hang from fences, we hang on our crutch.
Yeah, we know how to have our fun.
Wearing orange out of spite and nothing else much.
We know how and when to run.
Monday, October 25, 2010
A Dime to Dream
Cannot pull my head from the clouds
the one place I’m happy to find myself.
In my mind I unfurl open skies and grow lost in them.
Leap from the steps of tenement temple,
float over cities and plains, serve as a heroic symbol.
Romantic imagery excels life beyond the bitter tedium.
Contrails from my fingertips carve out my intentions.
It’s what you overlook that you fail to see in me!
My aspirations, my dreams, dismissed at the drop of a dime!
Spending ten cents a day on dreams I’ll never reach
Bending knee again to promises I cannot keep.
Cannot pull my head from the clouds
the one place I’m happy to find myself.
In this life this desk feels just like a coffin,
forged from cast-iron, sealed shut, and silenced:
dead weight anchoring my spirit to the floor.
Pinned to reality, onto the walls I carve my wish list.
It’s what you overlook that you fail to see in me!
My aspirations, my dreams, dismissed at the drop of a dime!
Spending ten cents a day on dreams I’ll never reach.
Bending knee again to promises I cannot keep.
So, I shed my wings
Let go of all my dreams in the air.
Dispersed by the winds
to idly descend back to earthen reality.
I’m back on the ground.
the one place I’m happy to find myself.
In my mind I unfurl open skies and grow lost in them.
Leap from the steps of tenement temple,
float over cities and plains, serve as a heroic symbol.
Romantic imagery excels life beyond the bitter tedium.
Contrails from my fingertips carve out my intentions.
It’s what you overlook that you fail to see in me!
My aspirations, my dreams, dismissed at the drop of a dime!
Spending ten cents a day on dreams I’ll never reach
Bending knee again to promises I cannot keep.
Cannot pull my head from the clouds
the one place I’m happy to find myself.
In this life this desk feels just like a coffin,
forged from cast-iron, sealed shut, and silenced:
dead weight anchoring my spirit to the floor.
Pinned to reality, onto the walls I carve my wish list.
It’s what you overlook that you fail to see in me!
My aspirations, my dreams, dismissed at the drop of a dime!
Spending ten cents a day on dreams I’ll never reach.
Bending knee again to promises I cannot keep.
So, I shed my wings
Let go of all my dreams in the air.
Dispersed by the winds
to idly descend back to earthen reality.
I’m back on the ground.
Eyesight
Selling god out of the rear of a repair garage
on the back lot of a burnt lawn with rusting cars up on blocks,
between an alley spilling over salesmen of assorted salvations
and a famished fifties duplex slouching to the left, calling for a rest.
Its sun-fried, old-time occupant standing,
folding his laundry in a sunray through the screen door.
Boozing teens yell in code from the next porch
over power chords and skateboards.
Nothing says 'you're wrong,' like an eighties station wagon:
its green passenger door on a body rusting gold,
with more repeating stickers than there is space for or cause.
You know we'll see only what we have eyes for.
Piled aluminum scrap overflowing the bed of an old pickup,
spilling over the ground, an ocean wave of metal imitating the sun;
a blinding flash from beneath our feet to wash out the sky.
Break-in mischief, the topic of our everyday lore,
the trappings of a night before and the lost score.
You know we'll see only what we have eyes for.
What is the whore you're looking for? *
Only what we have eyes for.
Oh, the audacity:
on auction, a city!
A back alley obsession
with the quickest strike at salvation.
Trade off nervous grins for nods of the head
and forget for the moment to believe in hate.
No one's buying in,
and no one's selling out,
if anyone takes this seriously.
Yeah, nothing says 'you're wrong,' like an eighties station wagon:
its green passenger door on a body wearing through,
with more repeating stickers than you can find space for or cause.
You know we'll see only what we have eyes for.
No, there are no more unicorns! ^
Only what we have eyes for.
* Low "Whore"
^ 800beloved "No More Unicorns"
on the back lot of a burnt lawn with rusting cars up on blocks,
between an alley spilling over salesmen of assorted salvations
and a famished fifties duplex slouching to the left, calling for a rest.
Its sun-fried, old-time occupant standing,
folding his laundry in a sunray through the screen door.
Boozing teens yell in code from the next porch
over power chords and skateboards.
Nothing says 'you're wrong,' like an eighties station wagon:
its green passenger door on a body rusting gold,
with more repeating stickers than there is space for or cause.
You know we'll see only what we have eyes for.
Piled aluminum scrap overflowing the bed of an old pickup,
spilling over the ground, an ocean wave of metal imitating the sun;
a blinding flash from beneath our feet to wash out the sky.
Break-in mischief, the topic of our everyday lore,
the trappings of a night before and the lost score.
You know we'll see only what we have eyes for.
What is the whore you're looking for? *
Only what we have eyes for.
Oh, the audacity:
on auction, a city!
A back alley obsession
with the quickest strike at salvation.
Trade off nervous grins for nods of the head
and forget for the moment to believe in hate.
No one's buying in,
and no one's selling out,
if anyone takes this seriously.
Yeah, nothing says 'you're wrong,' like an eighties station wagon:
its green passenger door on a body wearing through,
with more repeating stickers than you can find space for or cause.
You know we'll see only what we have eyes for.
No, there are no more unicorns! ^
Only what we have eyes for.
* Low "Whore"
^ 800beloved "No More Unicorns"
Fuck your Colloquialisms
Cookie cut,
low bitrate dictators
are taking over
everything we hear.
It's all you want.
All you want is
candy-coated, saccharine sweet hooks
to fill up your addicted look,
your cookie cutter cut-up style:
you hate, but you laugh and you smile.
And you scream in type online
about all the times you've wanted to die,
copy-pasting common, misguided colloquial
bulletin board quote material
about how you felt the knife,
buried it's secrets inside,
when the only cuts your body owns
are what cookie-cut conditions you've ordered up.
You have to fall to be real.
You have to climb out from your Hell.
That's the deal.
Low bitrate dictators
are taking over
everything we hear.
It's all you want.
All you want is
all we fear.
low bitrate dictators
are taking over
everything we hear.
It's all you want.
All you want is
candy-coated, saccharine sweet hooks
to fill up your addicted look,
your cookie cutter cut-up style:
you hate, but you laugh and you smile.
And you scream in type online
about all the times you've wanted to die,
copy-pasting common, misguided colloquial
bulletin board quote material
about how you felt the knife,
buried it's secrets inside,
when the only cuts your body owns
are what cookie-cut conditions you've ordered up.
You have to fall to be real.
You have to climb out from your Hell.
That's the deal.
Low bitrate dictators
are taking over
everything we hear.
It's all you want.
All you want is
all we fear.
Mockingbird
You're a mockingbird, listen to you sing
about your foolish fallacies with an ever-present greed.
You're a mockingbird, listen to you praise
yourself and all of your arrogant ways.
Mock me mockingbird!
Words as weapons, lies told to us.
Words hurt like hell, like broken bones!
Absence of scars, doesn't equate to lack of harm.
I was scarred for life by those small, simple things
you said were so harmless.
I've been scarred from life and the small, spiteful words
you say are so harmless.
I'm scared of life, because of this small singing bird
you say is so harmless.
I'm screaming now to let you know that nothing is harmless!
When words serve as knives
a throat is cut by its own voice.
You're a mockingbird, listen to you sing
about your foolish fallacies with an ever-present greed.
You're a mockingbird, listen to you praise
yourself and all of your arrogant ways.
Mock me mockingbird!
Sing, sing, sing.
Sing until you can't anymore!
Sing, mockingbird, sing:
sing, sing, sing.
Sing your stupid songs.
New Sense
Why does this place still exist?
Seriously, what's its purpose?
A nuissance, this new belonging.
A new sense of your wrong doing.
Loose ends and frayed connections.
A noose wound in strange surroundings.
The present is not but memory and dream
held together with sinew and loose seams,
old wounds we hold onto
and loved lights we'd like to.
Cut the scab right off your lip.
Feed it to the pigs that run this place.
They'll eat it up,
can never get enough.
They roll around in the shit they push.
They roll around in this shit. The sick fucks!
Rub the shine right off your face.
Feed it to the pigs who run this shit.
Eat it up.
Never get enough.
They roll around in the shit they push.
They roll around in their stuff, these fucks!
Seriously, what's its purpose?
A nuissance, this new belonging.
A new sense of your wrong doing.
Loose ends and frayed connections.
A noose wound in strange surroundings.
The present is not but memory and dream
held together with sinew and loose seams,
old wounds we hold onto
and loved lights we'd like to.
Cut the scab right off your lip.
Feed it to the pigs that run this place.
They'll eat it up,
can never get enough.
They roll around in the shit they push.
They roll around in this shit. The sick fucks!
Rub the shine right off your face.
Feed it to the pigs who run this shit.
Eat it up.
Never get enough.
They roll around in the shit they push.
They roll around in their stuff, these fucks!
Yeah, I Found God
Yeah, I found god
in a burning trash can.
He was singing some song of salvation and shame.
I grew tired of his tongue, so I pissed out the flames,
kicked it over to spill,
and in the mess smeared out my name.
Yeah, I found god
in the back alley of a burnt-out building.
Said he was happy to see me and forgave me my sins,
and that he liked the view from a charred window pane.
A quick reaction: broke out the glass to carve out a message.
In blood smeared out my name.
Yeah, I found god
living within my own skin.
Said he'd made me in his own likeness,
that I'd tried to change myself with these burns and scars,
and he'd never leave and that I couldn't do a thing,
but I wouldn't hear it, so I cut into my ears
screaming, "never in his name!"
in a burning trash can.
He was singing some song of salvation and shame.
I grew tired of his tongue, so I pissed out the flames,
kicked it over to spill,
and in the mess smeared out my name.
Yeah, I found god
in the back alley of a burnt-out building.
Said he was happy to see me and forgave me my sins,
and that he liked the view from a charred window pane.
A quick reaction: broke out the glass to carve out a message.
In blood smeared out my name.
Yeah, I found god
living within my own skin.
Said he'd made me in his own likeness,
that I'd tried to change myself with these burns and scars,
and he'd never leave and that I couldn't do a thing,
but I wouldn't hear it, so I cut into my ears
screaming, "never in his name!"
Second Hand
When I first caught you by a glimpse in the eye
against the thick, wet, heavy canvas of night
I took you for an attractive, young girl.
Now, I see you as an older man, still attractive.
And you were a high-schooler on TV
when I was in my early twenties.
What are we doing in the same company?
I'm always late getting into any old sound.
Tell me something more I haven't already heard.
And like everyone else,
I'm in with something I don't deserve.
We get through this; cold concrete hearts and fists.
We worship, let vanish,
and in an instant we slide to any place in this life.
You better wind that second hand.
Like clockwork our hands fall.
A couple lazy dogs, no one up in arms,
and now we fool around.
How's the scent?
And how far would you have went?
With what sentiment?
Not getting the updates like I used to.
Not into anything new, all used, second hand.
So, I just assume no one's got anything to give,
and, quite frankly, why would they?
Well, how's the nose?
And how far will you let yourself go
into the repeating unknown?
Not getting the updates like I used to.
Not into anything new, all used, second hand.
You better wind that second hand.
Like clockwork our hands fall.
Caught off guard, no one up in arms.
Now we fool around.
We are fools and proud.
And still around.
against the thick, wet, heavy canvas of night
I took you for an attractive, young girl.
Now, I see you as an older man, still attractive.
And you were a high-schooler on TV
when I was in my early twenties.
What are we doing in the same company?
I'm always late getting into any old sound.
Tell me something more I haven't already heard.
And like everyone else,
I'm in with something I don't deserve.
We get through this; cold concrete hearts and fists.
We worship, let vanish,
and in an instant we slide to any place in this life.
You better wind that second hand.
Like clockwork our hands fall.
A couple lazy dogs, no one up in arms,
and now we fool around.
How's the scent?
And how far would you have went?
With what sentiment?
Not getting the updates like I used to.
Not into anything new, all used, second hand.
So, I just assume no one's got anything to give,
and, quite frankly, why would they?
Well, how's the nose?
And how far will you let yourself go
into the repeating unknown?
Not getting the updates like I used to.
Not into anything new, all used, second hand.
You better wind that second hand.
Like clockwork our hands fall.
Caught off guard, no one up in arms.
Now we fool around.
We are fools and proud.
And still around.
Stand in March
A balloon landing in the low field behind your house,
elegantly crashing.
An umbrella sunk,
open under the shallow current of a stream.
A sunken umbrella.
Balloons elegantly crashing.
When depressed,
I want to have only this.
When you work up a smile
can you feel anything more
than the foam in your mouth?
When you're just like
all the lights in the sky going out?
The skulls are always smiling
from under their wide eyes.
They see everything
from a vacant perspective,
a comely, natural expression.
A sunken umbrella.
The lights going out in the sky.
What are we to witness?
I see only the push on your chest.
We're stuck here in these steps,
but please, stand in the march with me.
Sketchy observation.
A crash landing,
down with our currency.
Crashing,
going out with the current leads.
The skulls are always smiling
a sunken umbrella stare,
like all the lights in the sky going out.
Can you feel anything but the foam in your mouth?
We're stuck beating this cadence.
Don't cave.
Stand in mid-march with me.
C'mon! Stand in march with me.
elegantly crashing.
An umbrella sunk,
open under the shallow current of a stream.
A sunken umbrella.
Balloons elegantly crashing.
When depressed,
I want to have only this.
When you work up a smile
can you feel anything more
than the foam in your mouth?
When you're just like
all the lights in the sky going out?
The skulls are always smiling
from under their wide eyes.
They see everything
from a vacant perspective,
a comely, natural expression.
A sunken umbrella.
The lights going out in the sky.
What are we to witness?
I see only the push on your chest.
We're stuck here in these steps,
but please, stand in the march with me.
Sketchy observation.
A crash landing,
down with our currency.
Crashing,
going out with the current leads.
The skulls are always smiling
a sunken umbrella stare,
like all the lights in the sky going out.
Can you feel anything but the foam in your mouth?
We're stuck beating this cadence.
Don't cave.
Stand in mid-march with me.
C'mon! Stand in march with me.
TrinitI
Eyes glaze over,
lost in the self-primed holy land
of the Me-Me-Me's.
Homes found in surveyed plots
are shallow dug, lonely graves.
Engage in intra-personal explorations:
the selfish initiative.
Search 'til your lost deep within yourself
finding ways to package lies as truth:
conceited ignorance!
Look around!
Me, myself, and I: your holy trinity.
Neither wrong nor right,
but by divine right.
My, myself, and I: your holy trinity,
it's divine right!
Divine right of kings, the logical view:
how could one's self be wrong?
Your personal king in your reflection.
Put the I in infallibly worshipped.
To each his own. Toast the excelsior self!
Self! Self! Self! Yourself!
Me, myself, and I: your holy trinity.
Neither wrong nor right,
but by divine right.
My, myself, and I: your holy trinity,
so divine.
Me... me... me, Messiah!
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