most people travel from point a to point b
but i can't seem to get around without meandering
and ive been stretching my legs at this rest stop for seven years
though i can't tell if it's from apathy or severed gears
perhaps i've spent too long living life as a mile marker
to pull up the roots, grab a key and try starter
they smile farther and farther away now-a-days
and instead of catching up i just mutter sour phrase
every side looks greener as a dot on that horizon
so, come on child, get up, and let's try to find it
well i'm not anybody's slave and i'm only one woman's son, so...
i should stop writing these love notes to the gods.
the scenery keeps moving.
changing the look.
so, why am i still here?
cause i'm starting to look out of place.
and lost.
send me a postcard
so i can see some options.
they all lost perspective, with the mountains so close
in the city of gods in training it's easy to miss the host
for the angels, the forest for the trees
be careful, the disease, it spreads in threes.
two lines:
i often half-step, cause i can't do much better
yet somehow find i still reach farther measures
i keep boxes full of mines in my closet. there's a couple in my desk too. a few sitting there. like nick-nacks. this one here's disguised as a pink rock. this one looks just like a shot glass. but don't be fooled. even the smallest, careless glance will set the detonation. i've got this one box in the back filled with notebooks stuffed to the brim, with the thinnest of triggers. just waiting for another day when i feel like playing mine sweeper. and i was never very good at that game. bang.
i lost focus
cause the peripheral just looked so much better
grab your laser
cause time's running out
in this age of more yes's
it's hard to hear that no(te)
don't forget your pills,
she said,
cause it was too warm for a sweater.
these days orion watches over the house. he watches you through the window. and doesn't do a thing. voyeur.
and i must have taken too much throughout, cause lately i find it harder and harder to get high on life.
but foggy messages get me going.
it used to be so easy, 16s and 32s in easy rhyme
and now-a-days it's pulling teeth, and trip ups in the lines
they lost the look, it's cartoon bullshit from the chase
it's hard to find the fate when ink drips won't bleed into a face
no one wants to put that on their walls
autumn falls:
back to the time of year to turn that new leaf over from brown to green
so many laps past the flag and not a change in a thing
that time when the cold creeps in deeper every time you breathe
so many times around the carousel, but useless swings
those days with frosty walks, open skies, and blank minds
when you see the proof of existence with every exhaled line
clouds of in and out, the breath of shouts but all so quiet
in every exhale a bomb, only now you see the fogged riot
that time of quick walks home from work watching lung clouds
left to trace that map from what was to what's now
the time of year when metaphor almost seems a foolish practice
but ignorance is bliss and this masquerade's a habit
so hide behind the mask and slowly count up what you've done
a quarter century of notches without carving a single one
soon the crystals are coming and there's not much time to work
last chance, this time around, to find connection with the dirt
