Guns For JesusTake your saber and make a mile of me in a dead reliquary Take your sickle shiny clean, and make a mess of me, in a bread bakery Say unto me absurdity, say unto me misanthropy Now take your nature, Torn and deep, and make a dress for me, in a lead observatory Take your words, take your feelings, take a bite out of me, with fine vocabulary Say unto me, sick absurdity, say unto me, cold misanthropyGuns For Jesus
Give a gun to Jesus, and he'll patrol the streets Give a god to please us, and he'll control the beats If you patch the walls of Jericho, you'll be thrown from a sling
But you'll feel a pe
Charming The MountainsI said we should bypass the scenery to fill up on grander sights I'm blind to any foothills, and I've only eyes for you In time, I'll be invalid, or in time I'll be with you So I shall travel by the low of high, so there might be a flash of time In which I can slip on by.Charming The Mountains
Else I'll be charming the mountains, with the glare of my teeth And the flicks of my tongue I'll be charming the mountains With the swish of my cloak and my baritone words
They shift like the power of ivory And make efforts to bar me from you My queen, if you're in the back row Then, in che
Carnegie's LadderIf I had a needle and a thread, I'd sew my pockets up; I'd save a couple of bucks and buy a saw. I would hide it in a wooden box by the whitewashed stones under the house with the roof baked tender by the purple sun. With Carnegie's Bessemer ladder propped against the clogged gutters, I'd slowly suffer to its very top. If I were to find a rung to stand upon which was far past the other rungs, I would cry in doubt at my bizarre find, and then I'd shout for I'd forgotten my saw by the whitewashed stones under the house with the roof baked tender by the purple sun. If I had the funds I'd buy a massive bank and take a bunch of marginCarnegie's Ladder
Ayatollah 3I give you my magnum opus. I give you a product over a year in the making. I give you the finished and final form. . .of Ayatollah. . .Ayatollah 3
God was growing greedy and he wouldn't think of sharing Passing off his peers as passion loving herrings Humility was laughing high upon the terrace Honor watched and shrank knowing he had been embarrassed
Holy Hell, they have your name, now you're a traitor in the game
Nudity and equal entities can't form places quite like this Spilling seed is not atrocity But a way to keep us company One fell swoop divining spade will dig offi
A deeper entierety.Simple pleasures become of will with momentary bliss consuming you in its thrill.A deeper entierety.
Confusion sets in through disguise leading you towards the more simple side. Before you know it, you're all in, and your entirety has been taken over- naivety claims a first win.
You not know the difference between loosing depth and gaining "fun" you're almost happy but your life is not done.
Don't you see how shallow you are? a life is missing so much. you think that it's fine now but soon you will yearn a deeper touch.
Empty spaces move
The WindI have struggled in the thickening wind, which changes course to blunder me and bombard me with castrating thoughts The wind attempts to bury me It follows me and scathes my efforts as I trek upwind of a lovely scent I can smell it, our forgotten love, and the odor wilts my legs: planted in our fragrant hillside Remembrance of oils the sweetest cologneThe Wind
catching my senses in the night You drowned me in bed sheets and concocted a makeshift lavender lubricant that later soothed your tired hand Why does this smell follow me? Living in perpetual perfum
hungerdriven with such vigor and prodded with such ardor put all your faith in the butcher stacking the flesh in the larder bring all your heads to the barbers and sing all your hymns to the martyrs turn in your graves as the radio waves make men out of monstershunger
and victims of slaves pray over your slithering dinners lick the perfumed glue off your fingers the mind is the stomach digesting the sinners the tongue is the mind that questions the livers the teeth are the hands that cradle the spleen the lungs and intestines are somewhere between if you peel
Clay the Patronizing Mailmanalways stop me from being what i couldnt to be and listening's better with Bukowski from postal service religious lectures to the down-east dirty pine erections swearing the fealty to so many factions get out of the way, she's having contractions! wheeling the gurney and kicking the can feeding the hamburger into the fan lanching a rocket into god's eye i'm blowing me ups in the hopes that I die! from the gild-edged plates taking donations to the choir-boy-sodomy accusations lighting a candle and saying a prayer it'll cost you a grand, just don't fuck up my haClay the Patronizing Mailman
Here we are, new profile
Emotional
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yay muffinz shalll rule
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"I am Captain Gordon Freeman of the Intergalactic House of Pancakes ordering you to OPEN!"
"Murphy's Law can SUCK IT."
I appreciate it very much.
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yay muffinz shalll rule
I would call you a modern Shakespeare, but I'm not sure that a lot of people would like that.
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"Infidels! You have desecrated this holy ceremony! I condemn you to the realm of the ancient dead!"
"Uh, y-y-you mean Miami?"
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