I wish I could just kill the truth, Silver over tongue, under roof, Into the groove, into the wound, Alchohol of distant, citrus fruits. Oh, and I still love you, But that too, turns to abuse, Then silence fills a room. What have I been up to? I wish I could tell you the truth, Simple over tongue, under roof, I still love you, but I'm one of two, Easier said than lived through.
Vodka, Tonic, Fond of garlic, Unaccomplished. Are you talking? I'm fond of off switch and no, I wasn't watching. I was fawned, checking boxes. I was more interested in women, dawg. Not modern artists, or marvel comics, I was more interested in guitar, Not ingesting substance or getting off. Are you listening? I am fond of cognac, Long, in tonic water. and no, she didn't want me, But I never wanted her either. Like the stomach, or the liver, Long to vomit... I have concern with what's inside, Not consequences.
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.
Look to the sky: So cool, white. Like the moon at night, You, in suit and tie, People, when they die. Being alive will prove me right... Look to the interstice: So cool, divine, Like the moon in the sky. You, think of yourself highly, I fear I'll be alone at night. Where does that leave you and I? Basically we are two vampires... Look, I may not know what's right: You say you've died, Like the sun at night, or women when they cry. For advice, I apologize, This time you'll be standing by, The light, I feel, will take your life.
Full and clear: What should I have been? I hear the rage of a starter pistol. Good acting, Looksmaxxing, Should practice. Looking back I just didn't have it in me. Full and clear, What should I have done? I fear the stage of starting interest. Good learner, misunderstood, Bits of salmon under lemon curd, A bit too sweet to handle her. Full and clear, I could have been, And still could be, still could live, But I hear you far surpassed me, Too good for coming last place. Rather, you practice trot and gate, Failing that you simply walk away, Down the hill, then left on blake.
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.
Dry fog, fight songs, In my arms, your arms, You talk, then I talk, But that life is long gone, A dry cough on a live vlog. What was it I lost? The right to be what I was? The fight to be what I'm not? From my thoughts: Fuck off. For a list of things you are: Love of fine art, Love of my arms, Love for my mom, Love, from wild mobs, Hate for me deep in your heart. Does that, to you, seem honest? Pleas, bargains, Over t-shirts, waterbottles, Street artist and colleagues, Live in trap houses on Mary St. Does that, to you, seem honest? They sleep under pizza boxes, Drunks, who can never play in concert, What was it I lost again? The right to be what I was? To fight to live and die on a cross, Live life on a cot? Instead, I'll climb the hill to the top.
Acting, unsatisfied. Static, over time. Am I alright? Everyone expires, I reply. As a traffic light, I stop and bathe in red. Still, I'm hanging tight, Still, I lag behind, Final, panting sighs: Fine, then, pass me by. I'd rather be alive than dead... Stand aside? I'll walk as you run one last mile, Even if it's by myself... Why do dusty, static people seem to find me? Am I the twilight in which it shines? Red, Satanic light. Active, social life, Better inside architecture, or the mind. But, then, Wherefore does magic lie? Somewhere before the asking price.
Words leave her lips, Like a chord, music hits. Love scenes along with, Like speech, she insists. Roger, beep, Nothing more from me, If she insists, I proceed Olive tree, olive greens, All over obliques, seed, All over peaks, the sheets, All of it, comes from me.
Fist, upon brickwork, in repetition, My impression is the stigma persists, It's an effect of my symptoms... In reminiscence, problems were clear, Upon a cliff, above the tar pits, I think of a picture with scribbles on it, It's funny, small things, in the end, Even left in place, I would jump to my death. Vodka Tonic, Kalamata olive, My impression is the addiction persists, It's effectively my existence.
Thorough I write my kinship, Kingship, flagship furlough, Turmoil, searching for more. Is it just lies, unknowns? You seem to say so... Though, you write by wishing, Never anarchy and addiction, The things that you know. One more pint, by instinct, Stitches, side bitches, dislikes, sometimes singing. Is it just lies, unknowns? You seem to say so, Though, you live by it, Unlike any lyrics you wrote.
My heart is half paper. Myopia, Alexander? Again? Class hatred, suicide bombings, General proverb, maximized profits, Modified starches. My hope is black maple, My old house on the hill, Breath. My hope, Alexander? Cleopatra answers, I hope I get to live.
Commit a crime and tell me, Uphill climb, and emptiness, Pills alter the mind, The novels I write aren't helping. I no longer deny blessings, All I had in life is French seams, Red meat and prayer beads. The movie is for the sex scene, Simple child, on empty, Pills alter the mind, Barrels this time, sweat beads. Why can't I, be like a chess piece, Alone, untouched by deadbeats? Webbing is where the spider eats, Domestic things involve police, Collective lives can then convene. A minor piece, A minor key, Minor to the ones who sing, A major deal on my journey, Despite wind, spiders scheme, What is not real is the bodies.
Where does the red end? Bench press, breath test, Desk chair, ceiling fan: You hope to get to live again. Jump rope, feeling breasts, Best friends, sleeping bags. Then into the night, like assent... That's a life you never lived. Town by town, you lay a brick, Build a house, inhale a bit. Where, from does cedar sprout? Far away from shit like this. How are you about playing music? Cedar necks, hands tight around, Beating skin, women. Beans again, Upon a page then: demons, hell. What is a stranger, to a friend? Follower, liar, charlatan, I would never knew, you were never there.
Haven't you seen the sequins? Salsa, nude beach, bean dip, There, now eat like you speak: About dreams and freedoms. Again, please... New Year, new people, You, everyone but me. Time to stand in the mirror, Cowering in fear, staring distant. Again, but not for me... I see sequins about a face, And fruit trees. My dream lives, Not in castles distant, so far away, She's serving coffee down the street.
I was hoping by the ending, a farewell. What is war preventing? A self governable from leading. Increases in pricing: Limes, olives and pears. It's all about money in the end. Canadian businessmen, One thousand feet in the air, Fourty thousand below the disk.
A look at the steps, I look past the flesh, Yes, says the books. No, when I look at your texts. If one pulls a rope far enough, can they pull past the end? When you look at yourself? Do you see past the hair? Dogs are like wolves, More inbred and inept, Live in distant woods, Beside the caves, bears. When you look in the mirror, Do you see yourself? I took glimpses and saw red.
Red, race runner. Race winner, Hair, face makeup, Gray silver. A sliver of hope, please, The world cometh. Great singers, they say, Have a way with words, Do they listen to yours? When they read mine, I expose their inside. Cinnamon rolls, She eyes the icing, When she listens to me, Her head is cocked back, As if she died. She says, Cinnamon rolls are fine, Beige aside. Change, paper kites, Beyond lime green basement lights, Confirmation of rights. Like what a child encased in white, Could possibly look like? Red, less waste of time.