Tongue singing the melody
of a skull brimming full of malady
speaking in permanent soliloquy
alone but coping beautifully
I am kidding myself, you cant hear me.
Cast off thy worldly goods and
worry not for the morrow
so I struggle with the question of why I chose this
I mean I know no-one really gives a shit
I see back in your eyes I see the fire is lit and I think
that's what I do, that's my cog defined
what you do with that fire, well, is it mine?
as I ponder how far those connections go
I know they go on forever
but how much of it do I own
how long can I be warmed by its heat
before it turns and burns me down
fuck it anyway its all on loan
happily walking down the rabbit hole knowing exactly where it goes
another hole, 6 foot deep and about 7 long and 4 wide.
everything I have ever done or will do sits inside
the words I hate saying the most is “I told you so”
the words I hate hearing the most is “it might have been”
whats the point of saying it, ill just say it again
and I only hear the ones I know
so here is the pile of dust I call my show
struggling with the futility of it all
I cant even find a point to rhyming.
the objective truth is the truth is subjective
you ever watch the mental acrobats used to reject it
with a smile on my lips I find this sadistic
with popcorn in hand I call that shit entertainment
I love to watch them struggle with the inability to accept it
its getting old and so am I
am I wrong to pop the comfortable lies
I know I lit the fire to watch it burn