| See, in the aftermath of the lantern light
|
| There was the lighted laughter
|
| After he had ignited
|
| The night life came to a stand-still
|
| Till dawn
|
| Still-life captured in my quills
|
| Still quivering hands
|
| Holding my pen
|
| And holding man
|
| Did become one with the unfolding Zen
|
| And then and there I’m cold
|
| And don’t know how to sell my shares
|
| In marionettes made from gold
|
| Who wants to be a puppet?
|
| Raise your hand
|
| Drop your head
|
| And grab a bucket
|
| Cash the liquid tears and cop a couple of droplets
|
| Fuck it
|
| Where’s the water when I want a drink?
|
| Where’s the slaughter when I’m on the brink?
|
| I want to think about leaving heaven for the very first time
|
| Never felt the same way when decay disbursed this line
|
| And time is no longer an object of my desires
|
| I want to live in between the lines
|
| I want to give in and live in a shrine
|
| Promote the art of peace and feel increasingly genuine
|
| Our loving can taste the ocean
|
| It makes an awful good tapestry
|
| The soothing motion for my mind’s apathy
|
| Happily changing time zones and subject matter
|
| The latter meaning a decrease in chatter
|
| And more patterns
|
| And more live drums
|
| And more new friends
|
| More dependant on myself for more mental growth
|
| But it depends
|
| On more genital gropes
|
| How good I’m feeling
|
| More importantly is how I’m dealing
|
| With the people I’m meeting
|
| Hearts I’m stealing
|
| Kiss kiss my sweet biscuit
|
| I’m basking in the insecurity of your slit wrist
|
| Lying listless
|
| Not even on the guest list
|
| Not a member of the most pious
|
| Post fliers
|
| Kids my age still on stage
|
| Will never mean it all
|
| Full of rage
|
| Crafted in a cage called high school
|
| Foolishly accepted my foolish roll
|
| Roving along the hallways
|
| Strolling past the Key-master
|
| Whose locks I’m holding
|
| Halfway to Hell in a basement
|
| Taking shop
|
| Pacing myself or else
|
| Have to stop
|
| Slow down just a little bit
|
| It’s the middle of the night
|
| And might we get a little light
|
| Put your hands up for insight
|
| Ahhhh
|
| Throw your hands up for insight
|
| Uhhhh
|
| Throw your hands up for insight
|
| Lights out
|
| Handcuffed and stuffed in a closet
|
| Fight and shout
|
| And drag them all the way home screaming
|
| «Insight
|
| Insight
|
| I got to try to get it
|
| Insight
|
| In flight
|
| Overwhelm me
|
| I won’t let it.»
|
| Please everyone
|
| Seek to be smart at least once a week
|
| If you can spare the time
|
| It bears doing to your brewing mind
|
| Beaten black and blue and blind
|
| Boast of that in most situations
|
| You and I close hugging
|
| Telling secrets
|
| Want to keep it
|
| Mind over matter
|
| And those who don’t believe in peace
|
| Will have their
|
| Knees shattered
|
| Ask me
|
| «To where the trees scattered?»
|
| It’s not like it really mattered
|
| Cause feet splattered
|
| Muddy chunks on the walls of concrete jungle
|
| With asphalt floors
|
| And doors that stay locked
|
| And humble men living in fear
|
| Guns cocked
|
| Tears running
|
| Crops grow of sadness
|
| Seeded in the springtime
|
| Sowing a harvest full of madness
|
| Uh huh Uh huh
|
| When I yell «Insight»
|
| You say «Psychosis»
|
| Insight!
|
| Psychosis!
|
| Insight!
|
| Psychosis!
|
| When I yell «Kiss me»
|
| And you start to kiss me
|
| I’ll feel it then I’ll flow it
|
| It’s raining
|
| It’s pissing
|
| A glistening liquid
|
| That’s my brain and
|
| If you’re straining to wipe your face
|
| And
|
| Craning your neck to check your game
|
| And
|
| It’s not the same no more
|
| That’s for sure
|
| I’m shocked at the skills exhibited
|
| As a derivative
|
| Of uninhibited
|
| Uninhabited
|
| Avid
|
| Given at Scribble Jam
|
| I saw art walk
|
| It’s living culture
|
| Locked mind
|
| A one-way door
|
| And you’re trapped inside my vision
|
| Art could and should be without
|
| Inhibition
|
| To those who inspired my enlightened condition
|
| I was thinking of you just now
|
| I hope you listened |