Byline: UNTITLED
Then you wonder where all the oxygen went.
And get to know when a good thing is gone.
Who cares if the devil protests that you will
always be a hyena gnawing on rifle stock.
Discoursing over artificial cherry and non-chalant grape liquids
with lyric repetition and melodic invention
waiting as great despondence settles in
You can try and create mystery but you can't escape who you are
Cross hatching bulls eyes, halos,
zig zags, dots, ill tempered individuals
under famous moons.
Untitled to their entitlement
Setting forts on fire while setting suns settle
carjacking my heart
shoplifting my soul
earjackin' conversations
using dry, tight passages
creating dreamy senses of fantasy
Forever refusing forecasts fostering
ineptitude with insufficient cover
A collection of desires
And moments of maximum tension
Get drowsy with drink
Driving stakes into the eyeballs of tomorrow
Quick witted heroes escape
Abstracting sonic references to concrete visions
soundtracks of survival,
soundtracks of denial
images pulsing with sound
As boring as the literal details
on trial for utilizing not analyzing
The fire of an idea,
while sketches are still in progress
Eloquence doesn't always have a pretty face
But beauty is not that far from the
Half strength of a single tear drop
Personifing a moment
mixing Machine gun melodies and rockabilly rhythms
Preaching the gospel, singin' out the hymnal
Keeping my overhead low
Not everyone is born to crash and burn.
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