IRC-Galleria

What a skeletal wreck of man this is.
Translucent flesh and feeble bones,
the kind of temple where the whores and villains
try to tempt the holistic domes.
Running rampant with free thought to free form, and the free and clear.
When the matters at hand are shelled out like lint at a
laundry mat to sift and focus on the bigger, better, now.
We all have a little sin that needs venting,
virtues for the rending and laws and systems and stems are ripped
from the branches of office, do you know where your post entails?
Do you serve a purpose, or purposely serve?
When in doubt inside your atavistic allure, the value
of a summer spent, and a winter earned.
For the rest of us, there is always Sunday.
The day of the week the reeks of rest, but all we do is catch our breath,
so we can wade naked in the bloody pool, and
place our hand on the big, black book.
To watch the knives zigzag between our aching fingers.
A vacation is a countdown, T minus your life and
counting, time to drag your tongue across the sugar cube,
and hope you get a taste.
WHAT THE FUCK IS ALL THIS FOR?
WHAT THE HELLÂ’S GOING ON? SHUT UP!
I can go on and on but lets move on, shall we?

Say, your me, and IÂ’m you, and they all watch the things we do,
and like a smack of spite they threw me down the stairs,
havenÂ’t felt like this in years.
The great magnet of malicious magnanimous refuse, let me go,
and punch me into the dead spout again.
ThatÂ’s where you go when thereÂ’s no one else around,
itÂ’s just you, and there was never anyone to begin with, now was there?
Sanctimonious pretentious dastardly bastards with their thumb on the pulse,
and a finger on the trigger.
CLASSIFIED MY ASS! THATÂ’S A FUCKING SECRET, AND YOU KNOW IT!
Government is another way to say betterÂ…thanÂ…you.
ItÂ’s like ice but no pick, a murder charge that wonÂ’t stick,
itÂ’s like a whole other world where you can smell the food,
but you canÂ’t touch the silverware.
Huh, what luck. Fascism you can vote for.
Humph, isnÂ’t that sweet?
And weÂ’re all gonna die some day, because thatÂ’s the American way,
and IÂ’ve drunk too much, and said too little,
when your gaffer taped in the
middle, say a prayer, say a face, get your self
together and see whatÂ’s happening.
SHUT UP! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!
IÂ’m sorry, I could go on and on but
their times to move on so, remember: youÂ’re a wreck, an accident.
Forget the freak, your just nature.
Keep the gun oiled, and the temple cleaned shit snort,
and blaspheme, let the heads cool, and the engine run.
Because in the end, everything we do, is just everything weÂ’ve done.