Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Little Voices



All your fun is just a coverup, distraction, clever lie
you're just wasting time pretending you don't really want to die
let's get real boy this is poetry; ain't nothin if it grins
stop that dancin and get back to splashy bleeding for your sins

He's wrong, I'm right, let's expedite this move from sick to sane
your humor's your salvation and your misery, your bane
spend more words on funky chickens and less wail on festered wounds
people snore through Shakespeare's tragedies, but sing to silly tunes


Bah that's poppycock and you know well, a car crash entertains
if you want your fan's attentions crush your head between two trains
don't you dare lock up the closet where your skeletons stand guard
bring them out and have a party, hoist your life on their petard

No I beg you, don't abuse your past; some secret's should be still
stop that airing dirty laundry, take your blue and yellow pill
take more pleasant walks with Ogre, keep your head within the clouds
better you keep razors from your wrists, than gather nodding crowds


Goody Two Shoes! Find a muzzle, wrap your head in cellophane
Me and Ronnie here are gonna blow a week on penning pain
try to stop us if you're desperate, but beware the dragon's breath
nothing's sadder than an angel who's been talked unto her death

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