(no subject)
The second stage lights, flickered
Brightly but dimly in the atmospheric fog of cigarette smoke
It’s a conglomerated drawn and quartered scene
Limb from limb from limb, if you know what I mean
She screamed ‘Darling! Come and pick me up!
The boys in blue are getting a bit rough,’
I find it ironic that her man should flee
In the moment of terror of this, killing spree
Fantasia is a bitch
Considering the factual side of all of it
You hate the players and you hate the game
But the pieces on the board make it worth your strain
Pedestrians are filling the pews
With their burning red suits
And their Penelope styled mourning shrouds
Why weep when no one is dead?
I ask you clearly and to the point
Yet no reply is expected
And none is delivered
The bones in my body are brittle from shivering
It’s just a plastic mold of what has yet to come
That I huddled by the fireside on dewy dawns
I swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth so help me…you?
Dear critics, I would like to complain about the cliché in the line above
Sincerely, a pronoun of desirable qualities
I had no forthcoming knowledge of the following events
Of when the police dragged your body through the avenues
I couldn’t help but release my grip
On the monetary note that defiled our summer’s ending
Charity! Community! It’s called Fascism, baby
You’re a member of the system now
I’d like to watch you beg for mercy before I intervene
Now you know how it feels, when I’m pressed against
The stone cold tile set, a ceramic mosaic whatever you wish it to be
I’m feeling drained at this loss of blood
The droplets of rouge liquid congeal and liquefy
To form the words that are rape to your eyes
I don’t want to be cruel to you
I just want you to walk twenty miles in these worn out shoes
Burn it up, lust could fuel a Buick