Well it looks like I'm lost again. I tried to write directions down but lost my pen. I'd talk to them, but all I hear is static. All I see is darkness and I'm all outta matches. I tried to walk straight, but the path got crooked. No knife stops fate, it gets as bad as it should get. I could quit, but I've come this far. If you want it then confront it, its not hard to jump ship. Some fit, others force pieces into puzzles. It's a dumb with for more speeches, less struggles. Just humble, with no need to speak loudly. So stop shouting at the weather whether or not it got cloudy. Now we head onward, forward to the vanishing point. Deciding the horizons more worth panicking toward. We ran to the source, to see we chased a sunset. My path was so warped, a mile felt like one step.

This is the way it must feel to die. This fate it'll make us all break in time. This is the way it must feel to dive. When trying to spread your wings full to fly. This is the way it must feel to lie, down on the ground and drown in the light. I haven't felt right since that first bitter kiss. Spent half my shelf-life to stack words in my ribs. Blurred innocence and too much ambition, burns when it hits a screwed up man's vision. This is the way it must feel to lose. To be a pawn for so long you go along with the moves. Is it wrong to confuse your dreams with reality? If a song can consume and delete what you're about to be? The screams are so loud to me I can't hear myself think. From the voices that exploit this in my head and yell things. Melt wings until there's nothing left but stubs, shouldn't have flown next to the sun, now there's nothing left of us. If I die wide awake, I'll try and tell the devil that I made a mistake. If I go to sleep to forever unconscious, I hope I dream of all the things I never accomplished. If I die wide awake, I guess I'll see it coming from a mile away. If I die wide awake, I'll try and make it happy with a smiling face. So you've started to fall, but you're the only reason you departed at all. The art is so dull, but you wanted to be an artist. Your part is so small but you wanna confront the largest. A carcass is all your body will become. You'll probably be a bum and copy something someone's done. But failures just a mindset and we all haven't died yet. My bets times left and I've slept through life's likeness, it's like death. Why fret and fuss if I've slept enough? When all successful people are just as fucked as the rest of us. Try, try, try and go succeed. Hopefully you sew and reap, grow a tree and go to sleep. Slow and cheap like riding the bus is. We're so fucking disgusted but we never discuss this. Spending our lives waiting to see what enjoyment is. But we feel the most alive when taking all of the poisons in. Pursue them, improve then, but understand you're human. Anything you do then can fall from the hands you've ruined. From the first endeavor to the burst of pressure, we search until it hurts and then get cursed forever. I wanna die young, and face it when my times come. With all of life's scum full of hatred from what I've done. If I die wide awake, I'll try and tell the devil that I made a mistake. If I go to sleep to forever unconscious, I hope I dream of all the things I never accomplished. If I die wide awake, I guess I'll see it coming from a mile away. If I die wide awake, I'll try and make it happy with a smiling face.

No Words Needed.

When the car dies and we fall on hard times I think about design and how ultimately this hearts mine. Part time, that's how I'm living happily. Come and take a stab at me, I'll dodge the slashes casually. This whole performance, summed up to survival, to build something enormous and kill all of our rivals. Denial tends to lead to aggression. We file away the lessons and still weep at the best end. Cause nothing could ever be learned from history. We're doomed to be consumed soon by the misery. Sick of me? Well good, I am too. I've done so much already, but what should a man do? I ran through life just like my father did and you can't do right if you take the wrong and bottle it. Walk a bit and try to get your thoughts straight, life is so monotonous and all we do is mock fate. Stop, wait, before the past is known it's future. Walking on the tracks, throwing one rock at two birds. We're born to be our parents, swallowed by their darkness. Born to leave and perish, followed by some carnage. Smart kids are the ones who have some insight. Who know how to get right, and escape before they're stuck mid-life. Around midnight, I start to get delirious, I claim I built the pyramids and then became a lyricist. Weariness from knowing, my father wrote the same songs, with all of life's chains on, knowing that his aim's wrong. Names gone, along with the body and heart. Nothing we can leave can be as godly as art.

So other day I was walking along, minding my own business, when none other then Death himself walks right up to me. And there I was, staring Death in the face. And you know what I said to him? I said, "I'm scared." He didn't flinch or make a move, he just said slowly in his raspy Death voice, "I'm here for a reason, and I think you know why." I yelled out, "Damn you Death! I had so much left to do... I've never ridden on an elephant intoxicated through the jungle. I've never seen Paris, I've never experienced enlightenment, I've never really felt alive. At this point he laughed, a sound like a car backfiring. He replied,"What if death was the beginning of life, and you're about to be born? You can't spend existence debating what could've been. Die with some dignity." And as if instinctually, I turned and ran. I ran and ran and ran for what felt like miles. I was in a seemingly unfamiliar place I soon realized was Hell. I turned around to see Death standing there, chuckling to himself. "You can't run from Death," he said. And then I awoke, suddenly, in a hospital bed clouded with morphine filled thoughts. The doctors just keep telling me how lucky I am to be alive, after getting struck by lightning. But all I can think about is how I met Death, and how I'm going to Hell. So I got out of the bed, and walked out of the room. I might as well enjoy myself now that I know the truth is, you can't run from Death.

Every day it always seems cloudy. But it's not really about me, I'm just part of the algae. Drowning is easy when you live in the ocean, and no one seems to notice that the water is potent. A closeness that never seems close enough. And all of these doses just keep me throwing up. The worlds such a big mess, I write about it in text, all this flesh has experienced is delirious fixed debt. This step isn't in any direction, we're just running in circles or most of us slept in. So wake up, even if it hurts a lot. Just keep your dreams alive cause it's always worth a shot. We speak soft, or dream lost, to choose between deep thoughts or detox. Sleepwalk and take your pills, but all of their cheap talk won't pay the bills. Its not that the world forgot you, its that it dropped through and you're not new. They shot through your lost view and stopped you. Bought two, then sold them both for profit. Forgetting its all toxic and claiming that they're not sick. But honestly I'm feeling sick today. Waiting for the modesty to start to ricochet. My hearts in disarray but I'm partially to blame, for worrying about everything while acting like I'm brave. So hey today I feel a bit barbaric. Quit blaming your parents when its really lack of merit, on your part, your art is forced sabotage. Of course your sad facade has no remorse, a bad mirage you created to shape-shift into fake greatness. While we still make payments for the bars on our cages. There's so much left to purchase, I'm just another wordsmith, nervous uncertain person searching for a purpose. The worst is, always yet to come. We're just as numb as we're supposed to be. These shooting sprees aren't new to me, usually we hope to see the massacre that half-occurs when pastures burn and laughter's heard. We have to learn to see the sewage and ruins as a good example of the beauty in humans. Every day, it always seems cloudy but its smog. One man's trash is another man's god.

I don't have an influence, I forget why I do this. I just sit in silence, I don't listen to music. I remember the old days when I could see your whole face. The death of the live show is just another cold case. We hold weight and then eventually break. Always told to stay while we're inching away. The bigger the artist the harder they fall. I can give you targets or a part of my skull. Start a moshpit or start to shoplift. Find some burdens to bear, wear and walk with. Talk quick, then speed it up to speak in tongues. When the weekend comes I need someone to relate to my music or say that I'm stupid. Make fists and break shit, meet pavement and bruises. I'm a criminal and the worlds covered in fingerprints. So cynical, but all I ever wanted was to sing to kids. Hit or miss, swing your fists, at least we'll feel alive. Come to think of it, my wings are clipped and I can't really fly. Its a celebration, Hell is waiting for everybody. They can't ever judge me, beauty's usually better ugly. We started the set for an anonymous sea. This is nothing like what they were promising me. Ominously the crowd seems like its a death threat. I don't know what it means, the dreams so disconnected. You used to play the same stages for eight faces, now your names famous, aim's aimless, the game changes. Continue to binge through venues like you're big news, then play pretend true and get the "Ends Too Soon Blues." Blame your instincts, when the ship sinks. Claiming you're existing when really you're just ink. x2 Puddles of it that they wanna rummage through. Shouting out loud about what they've done to you. Come unglued or try to hold it together. It goes: One, two, through, should've molded it better. Pulled the lever, hit rock bottom from a platform, fell through a trapdoor and couldn't afford the encore. When the ship sinks, swallow all the mixed drinks, try to grow thin wings and follow your instincts. Then sing, like that could ever save your soul. As if preaching enlightenment was every savior's goal. Made of holes so deep that they're bottomless. But the problem is we're buying your coffin lids. Die crying, like you've discovered something big, and didn't get to tell the others what they're up against. Nothing you could say, can ever raise a sunken ship.

My life's an inconclusive statement. I'd die twice before I'd choose to brave this space in which we occupy, pray and wish but not defy. Modified to walk in line and live in the allotted time. I've gotta climb so I'm readying senses. Threatening fences while discrediting endless. Nothings what it seems to be, I'm shrugging off my decency so easily and sheepishly. A piece of me, a sleepless dream. I've recently discovered, everything's finite. I've got my life, but lost my eyesight in a knife fight for right. Why write then, when its so open ended? Hope intended, broke and bent it, spoken splendid so we'll lend it to whoever can enjoy it. With a poisoned employment dying to exploit this destroyed ship that's sinking rapidly and actually it's a masterpiece of casualties drinking death happily. Capturing the tragedy of the American Dream, when all the heroin fiends don't even care what it means. Deceiving me to see the sea of scenes so freakishly, machines that bleed into the scenery deceitfully. Feed the weeds, let em get taller then the house. Then burn it down to the ground and don't douse it out. The only way to take a stand is to make them take a seat. The only way to break a man is to make them say they're free. The only way I'll ever get heard from my poor mouth, is if I take a bomb right into the courthouse. The only way to go is to kill your radio, while aging slow to all your favorite shows. The only way to keep dreaming is eyes sewn shut, but no one is sleeping until this buildings blown up. We don't want restitution, just a revolution. A resolution that won't require execution. I met this human who forgot who he was. Got caught up in the buzz, lost thoughts, lost blood. We talked once, he said he'd bought his placement. He loved to be wasted, fuck moderation. Loves his nation and says he's patriotic. Which is probably true, cause he helped make it toxic. Pay it off quick, run from the interest rates. No one in charge of this place has ever been an inmate. When they convict you, get a grip soon. Find the nearest cop car and throw a brick through the window then go somewhere close and party. Write another cliche song called Anarchy. We're all disgruntled punk kids who stumbled in with drunk fists. We grew up on dumb shit and left with our tongues clipped.