You have no passion, you are defiant
You lament out & I resurrect nothing
You promise the same versed things
no novelty do I see
You whimper, "my hands are exhausted"
My hands proclaim, "You are wretched"
I stand by, I chortle
You're making your home in the wake
City full of angels
a saint's last memory nothing but leery.
nothings finite,
nothings more than "reality"-
in the eyes of a man who knows he can't.
Tell me the sweetest song and lets journey along
something you can not define,
the God, the God
of this greatest mind
still writing your story, the grand o'scheme,-
with a pencil full of leaded steam
Like a dim-lighted candle,
a storm with no thunder,
you are not stable, you are not just,
you are just too much to handle
City full of angels
a saint's last memory nothing but leery.
nothings finite,
nothings more than "reality"-
in the eyes of a man who knows he can't.
Tell me the sweetest song and lets journey along
something you can not define,
the God, the God
of this greatest mind
Soo exaggerating, soo demanding
You lace up your festering wound with prodigality
Locked up in your eyes of hypocrisy
You are not mine
You pillage, but you call out to your brother,
"Everything is fine!"
Inscribe to me, impart your legacy
leave me out of this thing called democracy
Spiral inwards and downwards
to the pit with no prospect
I've got the Digger, I'm never coming back
City full of angels
a saint's last memory nothing but leery.
nothings finite,
nothings more than "reality"-
in the eyes of a man who knows he can't.
Tell me the sweetest song and lets journey along
something you can not define,
the God, the God
of this greatest mind
and so this is me, from the grave
inspecting that thing beyond the skyline
and what it or he concedes about
for that of which sprouts from
this cavity, captivity, cascade
is nothing more than a daisy
that I did not formulate
No comments:
Post a Comment