Dance mat: crash pad. Down to last chance, Dawn breaks the man. By the dock, Sunsets fades to black, Like you fade into back, It all felt way too fast. Despite the missteps, I'd still see you dance.
Final arrangement of words, I am managing, without you, Despite how badly it hurts. Style, abasement of yours, Love songs only in word. Like wood, farmed for the pulp.
It's not the language they speak, It's that they speak my language, And they can pass grammar tests, Better than me. So, c'est la vie, To everything... Is that seriously your position? Egyptians watch people from the sea. Until the waves are overwhelming, Like you, they will be, at best, relief. It's not an answer to everything, It's that you walk down the street, Then talk to people. Instead of becoming antisocial, Cherry picking animal bones, And little use for any more. It's not semantic, or colloquial.
Atop the spire, wizards, white, What is obvious, like this type of writing, or the ways it affected our minds. Liberty spikes, Into the eye and past the socket: Images of fucking, and violence, Consumed with many libations. Like an infection, it stays inside... You would rather fight about race, and riot, Like liberty spikes upon the statues high... Why wouldn't you say the opposite? That upon the point your virtues die, That you would rather sit at home and watch it, Than go out and stop those pedophiles.
Little bug: Little pigs, Little frogs, Little slug. Finger work beneath civil tongue: Fish supper, friction with drums. A little brother, too big for hugs, A little bit of dust, bits of rough: Personality, but's and cynical plots, Digital work beneath a given tongue. What would you say to me honestly? That you wish I was crushed? Well, I'm not. I lived never thinking of you much. Where is your response? Little love for little bugs, Simple things, inner calm, bigger cause... More concern for grudges, Than writing another song. Give a little time, you give it up... A little pain, a little age, little fun: Singing about doors that are shut, Invisible cuts that the makeup covers, For a while, until the stage goes dark, Then begins your performance, Entertainment to little bugs.
Macho dancer, nacho boy, Follower, borrowed language, Patterned, upon another land. They call you boy, not a man. Hollow laughter from the distance, Borrowed valor, from deep sadness. Thirty seven candles later you visit, Sorrow, passion, anger, business, All over a taco salad? I thought you had charisma? They say your life, not your plan... Also talent, not what you had. Abscence, between smashing. Not pathetic and sad, Crippled by lattice fences, Under another mask. Actually? They call me often, I'm in demand. Another sunset and other bands, People are as carbon is to plants, Commerce is to banks, Son is to a dad.
Round mouth shouts, War cry, smoke to sky, Really? I'm quite surprised, You changed with the times, Now, you find the fight? You are cold, white, Like an old jazz style, How do you stay warm at night? I am bound down: stakes, ropes, ties... Beneath the giant lies. A man with giant lies about him, A giant in a human size. I am found down, shivering upon the tiles, Beneath the skin a person lies, A man with giant lies about him, As a spider consumes the flies, Pious continual, polite about it. Does that make it right? Well, let me fly around a bit, And with delight I get to live again.
Love from the art class... Is everything the same, Or have you changed perhaps? If my tomorrow never came, Am I still just some faggot, That never had your respect? We both know front to back, When it comes to class, but What about our crossed paths? Does it matter, about the facts? Whether I fell to able hands, You would rather write about it, You already decided, so sing that, And when you finally do get to it, You shove it up your ass. Love, from the bottom of my heart, They never taught you art in class, And you never learnt good taste, Is everything the same? No... I would say you changed, perhaps, But you never had any fuckin class. And, that comes from me... Love, from the art class, All the way to the current of my heart: Things have changed, It's better you stay hard, man, A wave from across the bar. Far away, like your honest thoughts.
Where are all your pyramids? You stole my stones... Took my providence. What is a question for? Social dominance? Well stole upon my virulent, Conspiratorial penis and balls. So, stay as born, fisherman, Given, you play with your rod. No limericks or inwardness: Gibberish over impulses, Sickness, et al. Toward the emptiness I fall, Spheres and phallic symbols, Cheers, and then applause.
Shadow cast across their skin, Romance, Allow me a dance along thin, White lines with darker ends. Value passed through generation, Thank you, and oft veneration, And off to the races, White lines drawn to darker ends. And Why is it, he beats me still? Alas, Answers, White lies to darker ends. Romance, allow me a dance, Along lines, dark wide expanse, Around what lies in my bed, Along legs and under hands. I watch as the white lines dance, Eyes: water, shut. Demands... Then an end to nice guy acts, I'm not the one, but for now, I am.
On canvas, paint, Faint inner lines, One day, help will arrive. Fox to maggots, sages alike, Not passion, lies, One day, help will arrive. Small matters, aside, Lay awake in the night, Doorways open, Like man and a knife. All that matters is survival, Today, protection of life. Black magic, paint, What makes things mine? Fate, or time? I can't say faithfully, Hopefully, one day, help will arrive.
Dismantle the economic system, The high hat rings in the distance, Cocaine, racism and molestation, Hit that high hat, bitch, Like you hit children, Like you hit women, Pipes and pitches. Your last visit, I extinguished, Languished. Burns still existed, So did the fighting and killing, But this time I resisted.
To the final, pathetic, vocal squeal: Drum trials, pathos in guitar steel, Reference, for the crowd to cheer. What is gone, but was never there? What is a woman? Complacent? Like God, you take a bucket, Drown her in rainwater, It remains clear. Her body is still good for fucking. His money is still good for fucking, Her body is still good for fucking, Nothing. Ink then vinyl, out into the real, Drum trial, pathos to the feeling, Defence for the crowd that cheers. What is gone, but was never there? Magic, you chose a career, Not a life path. Defend that! Missives you can't recite back, Missiles, like knives to the back, Missing like writing upon a staff. Music was a mistake in the end, Mythic, like an axe upon a head, Without your controller in hand, What is gone, but was never there?
Gray, soot and ash, Prospects of red, Prophets of man, Say look at the back, Confidence in space, Dreams from the trash. Without arms, war, without debt, Red just looks as it is, Never having beauty in it. Gray, hooks and bags, Prospects of violent ends, Talk in the common grounds, Say what you can, Confidence in defence, Dreams from the calf. Stay aloof and fashionable, Projects of tribal dance, Hospitals and viral clips, And take what you can... E, flats, D, valves, See, pass, be, pass, Even a chromatic, Play what you can, Eventually life passes.
Red about the hands, Red about demands, Red a henhouse lacks. Red, ten ounce glass, Half gin, half cognac. So it's red inside, out, Red from front to back.
Blood on my hands, On my shoulderblades, Her hands, my blood. Blood on her hands, On my shoulderblades, Less nine months. This man I love, This man I trust. But he could kidnap my son, So send him to god.
Red coral, white bands, Windmill motions, Arms moving forward, If you get in the way, I'm waiting for you. Healing potions in both my hands. Pink coral, line graph, One day the ocean... For now, whatever passes. Yakub like arrangements, Only I divide you in half, Led Zeppelin she says, Is her favourite band. But she loves Taylor swift and Robert Plant. Red coral, white bands, White flags, white magic. Let go of my hand, she says, She needs a wise man, Not one coveting red. You'll get in the way, I'm moving forward, Text messages sent. White Coral, White mask, While to dress, only black. And all the red is gone, I guess...
Simply tell me, Simply tell me, Simpleton, weed, Between clenched teeth, Tension of three, from one. Petty... Pretty periwinkle. You wash your hands of disease, You never wash your hands of me. Like Adam kissed Eve, Rustling leaves, in the city, Not at the extremes. And make believe is more for cocaine users, Not people like me, Explore as many worlds as you see, You'll find in the end the colors are three. Plus, It might seem petty, But your shade is ultramarine. And it's shady people like you, That changes people's creed, Like a stringed needle, Pulled straight through teeth, It's not the pain they fear, It's the permanence you seek.