I believe at some point
I was meant to die for a cause
But for the life of me
I cannot remember what it was
For you see, in our time, dear children
We were seemingly still sordid
Without perhaps, a life left unrewarded
Our leftovers were kept next to us
From time to time and place to place
Over and over, we tripped over them
And fell backward into our dreams again.
I am deeply flawed but I Apparently
Mean well, desite the fact,
That is not enough
It seems i am deeply flawed
I only try to mean well
Because i am not enough
I try to be deeply flawed
Pretending that i mean well
While acting that its not enough
Am i deeply flawed?
Do I mean well?
Oh right thats not enough
When i fell away, deep into the valley of the dead, numbed into deep desire
When the wild beasts mutter my name, though saved by wildfire
I could only feel bare, naked in the tall grass, where dew drops flounder.
But the eyes that i see far from that valley, passing over, looking for a lover.
I find the star embazoned in the horizon, the boy i feel free to find
After i feel across the barron lands, constructed by the blind.
And though the darkness at the end of the light and the tunnel at the end of the light.
I can feel that faraway look, still looking so far as he looks into the blight.
That warrior of lonliness, that beacon of beauty.
That star that i will head
That i see as i am taken to bed.
Though this may be while, and forged from depths still unfounded, he will still be
My flower founded
I Do Live in a very strange town
Where rain blossoms before the sun
And only when you wake will it shine
Or the town greet you in hollow speech
As the rain patters gently, will I
Take my pills, and sleep gently
When the cold house sinks
with the rest of this cold town
I thought that all that was here was anger
And that I would leave a cold crater
Or the sun will never shine brighter
But this strange town can surprise you
When the beauty of the rain finds its way
down the window,
it’s shutters and verandahs
I can find my own way,
with a camera in my hand
And through a viewfinder
hopefully find some sense
In this strange littler town
I Live in a Strange Town
Where birds circle overhead
tired of chips, scraps and litter
Feeding of the people
Who are tired of their own scraps and litter
Of lost people and discarded feelings
When I find the people of the strange town
although I don’t know how to talk to them
they can smile, and see me for who I am
And I can love them for it
I do live in a very strange town
With broken people and shattered bottles
of beer, poured away over a dead land
it is all black and white
no hint of grey
but the sky itself
which looks over us in it’s own way
But this town, which I call mine
Where all shades will cover my eyes
I hold a rainbow in my heart
And on my sleeve
And I shall hold love deeper
Because of this strange town
That still holds it’s wonders
in my heart
I would have to say, I am a man
Frightened by what is said, and what isn’t
I would like to know, what is safely buried
and what is loved as something normal
Or if someone could tell me, in a roundabout way
If there where ever something to fear
Especially, when the sirens in my head wail
If it may not be better to wait, and hear the first siren call
For it certainly is strange, to call myself a man
I just listened to a song, telling me what it means
Although the start night may make it seem romantic
or if the moon above makes it seem more important
Are these feelings writhing within me,
a proper way to feel
or just another sign of irritating
and combustive abnormality
or seeing a stronger fella, showing me how it works
If someone could just tell me: should I be scared?
Or perhaps aroused? Especially,
when one removes ones clothes
And is happy to say “I am yours”
even when some nags in the mind
(perhaps it is god this time), telling me, for once, what must be done
It is fairer, I should believe, that this voice should tremble when one learns
to speak ones own mind, and finally say, to the voice someone else placed there
Perhaps it is best, if i speak my on mind on this one, especially if love
should call ones usual practices into question.
To solve the contradictions, our dear founding fathers
laid before our beloved
We need to form the correct frequency
of Codeine Fire Waves
They kill the resisting black-fellas,
shooting their tongues off in
a wild maelstrom of bullets and muffled screams.
Mother superior is here to claim you for your own good
dear little children, no need to chase the fence!
Form the little bastards up from birth
with early routines and gunpoint rituals
Bellow the streets go to
the high-rise pollution towers onto Montgomery street
Leave the elders to understand
the ways of land once theirs,
in a dead city of horror folk
Oh to be moral and mortal!
We still have you by the hair
Oh to be young and Immoral!