Woe?
Blame it on the rain.
Whoa! Blame it on the name game.
Size up, suit up self-esteem.
Tie-Down. Dress-down fight in the dog-days.

Wolf Nights?
Introspections and longing are a feverish solitaire.
In fact, it's a lot like masturbation.
When you win, you beat yourself.
See-Saw, hear/say. Say-Saw, heresay.
Stimulus, responsive.
Stimuli responded.
Let's pick a denfition!

Undue sense of ones own aggrogance or a family of lions? Yea, I'm Afraid. I don't want to die.
Not now. Not ever.
It's a harsh reality, Right?
It's the most offensive truth.

Those songs you'll hear when you're deaf.
What will they sound like when there's no sound at all? Footsteps you see in the dark.
Footsteps you see..

Cat and mouse is a game of subterfuge.
The mind scratches itself to pieces.
Spat-Up. Chew it down or leave the entrails to dry in the sun.
In summation, Fright is nothing more than a collection of preemptive suicides.
Do what you do to be alive.
It's a massacre outside the hole,
wandering three-blind Mrs. Butcher.
Suspense!
"It's that cat, doc, he scares me to death," Confess the mouse to the shrink.
::top::

4) Odds>Evens
I am as old as my tongue.
I am much older than my teeth.
Been neighbors for years but nevertheless not a word was shared.
Just eyes through the blinds.
Venetian. Odds. Evens.
The Flip Read 'Good thing you bet the farm.
Good thing you bet it all!
Those bastards are always bluffing blind no matter what's dealt, drawn, or thorwn down.'
Where do all thoughts go to lay themselves down for good?
Perhaps they will rot with the body
or float up to the sky by the trial of the soul. Auto Pilot, take 'em there by surprise!

Go out in a blaze, a blaze of glory.
Leave without a trace.
Leave without a flaw.
We'll catch up with those thoughts when we catch up with ourselves,
as we catch up with yourselves
catching up with each other.
Well blow me down,
blow me back to earth.
As fast as half-way between go and stop!
Throw your mama from the train or my mom will shoot.
::top::

5) The Wake
In hind sight for sore eyes on the prize fighter.
Pilot, gunner, navigator, the sky.
The mountains luke-warm,
Metaphorically speaking, speaking of metaphors... The simile is a front-runner.
The simile lacks a blue-print.
With an enchanting proposal,
one foot led the other, congruent.
To think your only god would flaunt you.
To think your only god would fight you!

Raise a frail fist at the creator.
Scream "I want to meet my maker!"
Persistently the ground tends to make way for you. Exchange all those hats for a hairline.
Define the cycles of existence to think and act just as we do.
We're blasphemous separatists de-railing the trains of thought.

To think your only god would flaunt you.
To think your only god would...

Reparations for misopportunities.
Pay some respect: The transitional currency. Reimbursed.
Sleeping soundly.
Should have soaked it all in,
absorbed the pouring rains past.
Let sheets blanket the suits so the dust can settle in sorrow.
Last showing...
::top::

6) Human Bodies
This place, more orange nowadays.
The ashen badlands redeem.
Your face, through magnififed glass,
still draws me in.
Those big eyes draw me in, distrophy.
Stale again.
Entropy: Care so much for kamakaze co-pilots who wear helmets.

Encapsulated but commingling.
Privaltized public apologies that are bought and sold.
Packaged and store in atticks for addicts.
Cold hands stumming the mile-high regrets. Perplexed? Perhaps! Impossible to postpone. Plights of professional penmanship.
Unopinionated routines,
worn knees in a crawling season.
Easy to imitate the oaks: shave a mountain man's beard.
Insidious sight-seers holding candles to those clutching torches.
Torture.
How will they put out the flames?

Once proud to be the anxious, naive marionette. but in time, became the shrewd, arthritic puppeteer.
Compare and Contrast.
Were you better off then as you alienated your limbs?
Alienated your purpose to flail?


Lyrics submitted by j_o_e_b_

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