Inhale, exhale, slow steady breaths to keep sinking ships a-sail.
As the ramble of reality is revealed from behind the veil.
Discernment diminishes before the dawn of society's derail.
Fraudulently forged from the flames of fertility to fail.
Freedom found pale and frail, fighting tooth and nail
Growing heavy beneath heaps of hardy hail
Inhale, exhale.
Inhale, exhale.
Freedom of expression from the first amendment is curtailed.
Alcoholics are anonymously addicted to ale.
Legions living in the land of the free, but locked up in jail.
No more contiguous contact, this is the age of email.
The majority turn the other cheek to Fox News' tall tales.
Whatever our actions are, we seldom know what each entails.
Masses taking medication for mental disorders, to no avail.
Impulse buying shit we don't need, because it's marked "on sale".
Brand names are held in higher esteem than the Holy Grail.
Destroying DNA to keep your delicate dazzle in detail.
Surely, self worth is measured on a scale.
Why would one want to travel this tumultuous trail?
Inhale, exhale.
If this is the world in which we live, then please put back the veil
We'd be better off breathing steady and slow, forever reading braille.
Exhale.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
The Dead Truly Walk...
This is not some sort of zombie literature without a metaphor behind it. If you don't understand the metaphor behind this, then you're already one of them. Keep that in mind before judging my work. This is merely a collection of band names set in place where I saw fit at 4 in the morning. Insomnia is a writer's best friend. There are seldom any rhymes as well, close this page if you were looking for any.
A society told what to Do, Make, Say, Think,
Forever worshiping a Machinemade God.
Esoteric knowledge is frowned upon and shackled by time,
therefore our Wisdom In Chains lies dormant Within the Ruins.
Since the Flood, human nature is a Shipwreck at the floor of The Ocean.
As the Sun Sets, we are slowly Awaiting the End.
After the Burial, there is nothing left Between the Buried and Me but soft soil.
Bring on The Faceless Winds of Plague, for there will soon be an End to Flesh.
With Dead Hands Rising, those alive fight to survive
Bodies will Unearth themselves, Becoming the Archetype.
A Cannibal Corpse at every doorstep, staring at you Through the Eyes of the Dead.
Left with nothing but the sound of their own Suicide Silence.
It Dies Today friends, have no Fear Before the March of Flames
Heaven Shall Burn as the First Blood is spilled. Terror. Full Blown Chaos.
In the Darkest Hour we will send up Misery Signals, to no avail. God Forbid.
Waking the Cadaver is easy when everyone is already living their days deceased.
Beneath the Sky lay A Fragile Line between Hell and Earth
Those who are left, remain Versus the Mirror.
I hope the Arsis of my voice will Bring Me the Horizon of a Brand New day.
Until then, we shall hold A Black Rose Burial for society's end.
The dead truly walk.
Misericordiam.
A society told what to Do, Make, Say, Think,
Forever worshiping a Machinemade God.
Esoteric knowledge is frowned upon and shackled by time,
therefore our Wisdom In Chains lies dormant Within the Ruins.
Since the Flood, human nature is a Shipwreck at the floor of The Ocean.
As the Sun Sets, we are slowly Awaiting the End.
After the Burial, there is nothing left Between the Buried and Me but soft soil.
Bring on The Faceless Winds of Plague, for there will soon be an End to Flesh.
With Dead Hands Rising, those alive fight to survive
Bodies will Unearth themselves, Becoming the Archetype.
A Cannibal Corpse at every doorstep, staring at you Through the Eyes of the Dead.
Left with nothing but the sound of their own Suicide Silence.
It Dies Today friends, have no Fear Before the March of Flames
Heaven Shall Burn as the First Blood is spilled. Terror. Full Blown Chaos.
In the Darkest Hour we will send up Misery Signals, to no avail. God Forbid.
Waking the Cadaver is easy when everyone is already living their days deceased.
Beneath the Sky lay A Fragile Line between Hell and Earth
Those who are left, remain Versus the Mirror.
I hope the Arsis of my voice will Bring Me the Horizon of a Brand New day.
Until then, we shall hold A Black Rose Burial for society's end.
The dead truly walk.
Misericordiam.
Stubborn
Yeah, I'm clearly skunk drunk, because I write unfiltered, No Brita here, simply a man off kilter
In a two galaxy radius, we two are the most stubborn.
I'm just tryin' to let this dub burn before I see
this club turn into a brawl. All vs. all, and you're invited.
No fightin' it, the fuse has been ignited. From a soldier
un-knighted and unrecognized amongst warlords.
A life forlorn, torn from the internal wars of what I've seen before
Infernal desires of flat tires on a crashed car, an abashed czar
An over-flashed star burning out at the bazaar of quasars
Seen from afar, remainders left like a scar upon the face
of those retainers of eternal sadness, resulting in such madness as
those canned in a cell, those damned to hell.
But we can work through this, like those believing in Judas.
The truth will forever be in front of us, letting sin fool us.
The Booth's still more clever than your preconceived notions
of life rafts floating on make-believe oceans of consciousness
and convenient monstrous-ness... redonculous.
A modern monstrosity modeling crop follies of artificial hollies
set to decorate a life of an adorned meal the director ate..
Truman show on a global scale, I'm a mobile Chernobyl ale.
Intoxicating your mind with the poor lines of a noble man's chivalrous veil.
I can't tell which is a lie, our niche is to die, when you find your place in the world, your ideas get hurled and new ideas are unfurled. Searching new dimensions, offering few redemptions for the past lives we've lived and what remains under cleaved ribs.
In a two galaxy radius, we two are the most stubborn.
I'm just tryin' to let this dub burn before I see
this club turn into a brawl. All vs. all, and you're invited.
No fightin' it, the fuse has been ignited. From a soldier
un-knighted and unrecognized amongst warlords.
A life forlorn, torn from the internal wars of what I've seen before
Infernal desires of flat tires on a crashed car, an abashed czar
An over-flashed star burning out at the bazaar of quasars
Seen from afar, remainders left like a scar upon the face
of those retainers of eternal sadness, resulting in such madness as
those canned in a cell, those damned to hell.
But we can work through this, like those believing in Judas.
The truth will forever be in front of us, letting sin fool us.
The Booth's still more clever than your preconceived notions
of life rafts floating on make-believe oceans of consciousness
and convenient monstrous-ness... redonculous.
A modern monstrosity modeling crop follies of artificial hollies
set to decorate a life of an adorned meal the director ate..
Truman show on a global scale, I'm a mobile Chernobyl ale.
Intoxicating your mind with the poor lines of a noble man's chivalrous veil.
I can't tell which is a lie, our niche is to die, when you find your place in the world, your ideas get hurled and new ideas are unfurled. Searching new dimensions, offering few redemptions for the past lives we've lived and what remains under cleaved ribs.
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