A Few Days Short Of A New Winter
Time to collect. Time to erect. We are outside in the cold while you are sound asleep. But we're still alive. We're still alright and we're lucky to be alive. The time is never now. A few days before the whole shithouse goes up in flames. Just a few days short of a new winter.
Atlanta
The earth is spinning beneath my feet. In the back of my head are several oaths sworn to myself dying a slow death. Soft spoken vows, carved in cement. The time has come for everyone to clean up their own backyard before they go knocking on their neighbours' door. It doesn't quite look the same. Draw a picture if you can't explain. It all changed for the same once again so I guess we're claiming Patty Hearst a long way from home, not even caring which ways to Rome there are left to roam. Silence equals death. Pitch black equals red. We don't end wars. Wars end us, and so they should. Maybe that's why no one's named Adolf anymore. But, silence equals death. Got eyes in the back of my head and I can see that they've got Blackjack dealer written all over 'em. Like natural born firemen. Wolves under my skin. Nail a frame around sin.
Be That As It May
Three shades of grey between us and the sun. This noise, it lifts me up and throws me right back into the place I belong to be. Shadowboxing like Cassius Clay. Cleanse my soul underwater. Like self defense machinery set on a collision course with the sun. Like Icarus flying to close to the sun. Don't call it a comeback. Stay gone or be gone. Be that as it may, and let us wash this all away.
Black Snake
Deadly vipers coiling up your legs. Misdirected impulse still unsound unbound. Rewards granted based on act. Based on performance, so to speak in forked tongue dialect. A stake through the heart until this life do us part. Idle chatter sounds so much better, they used to say in retrospect. Confused and bitter. Live with guilt. Sympathy fuck for the devil. Burning the witch as the ink starts to itch. Another piece of the puzzle falls out of place, for the puzzled panther will never give away the place I sent her.
Blood Money
They say that when the end of the world is here we will see people shake hands with one and other and run for their lives together. I doubt that theory. I think the people will only come out to see if the special effects are any good. We deserve to burn. There probably already is a cure for this cankerous plague. How can you sleep at night? Walk personality, talk personality. Purchase immortality, pay blood money.
Cast The First Stone
Cast the first stone and run. It's all downhill from here anyways. We're going down and down and on and on. It never ends, and I've had enough. Stronger than the cheapest alcohol. You are so much more beautiful than any song I have heard these last couple of weeks. Down and down and on and on, and oh my God. Please hold me tight and kiss me tonight. With our eyes closed and our clothes off. Kill me tonight. Please, cast the first stone.
Dead Air
I know there's something in the air. Pathetic attempts to ease the pain have made me sick, and this fever is killing me. Don't need time to think things through, because it's either play ball or walk the plank. My God, bring on this civil war. Time to create a clean slate. To mobilize the troops. To take a stand. To do something about these sleepless nights. I've been awake for months, and it's good to have you lying next to me. This is my plea for dead air. Some silence to grant me time to pull these knives out of my chest. Anytime but now. Anywhere but here. Everything must go. We all need dead air. I know there's something.
Digging For Bad Weather
This just might be the last time. Your final chance to say goodnight before these worlds collide. Look alive tonight. Dress sharp. Light up. Let's get corrupted, let's not wake up. Undress. Lights out. Let's come together, let's all punch out. Killing ourselves with a smile just for a while. Believe me, you're getting worse. Make-up is running down your face and your actions make me feel a whole lot better about myself. Now ain't that the truth? Other news: there are seven people dead on a South Dakota farm. Somewhere in the distance, there are seven new people born. Brothers and sisters born to raise hell. Cross the border before the sun sets.
Dogmata
Never again will she do what he has told her to. From day one, he told her exactly how to look, listen, learn, walk, beg, eat, sleep, steal and fuck. She'll never listen to him again. They buried her last Sunday. Six feet deep. Red neck. Pink eye. Blue collar. Black soul. White light.
Drunken Boat
This one goes out to a boat lost in the eye of the storm. In the eye of the tornado. No matter how bad you feel, it will all go and stay away. Remember how good your life was at one point? You know you can bring it back. Your pretty face once touched my heart and sucked my cock. Then everything just fell apart. And there it was, or here it is: end of discussion. There's nothing left to say, I made my point and I paid my dues. Just let me rephrase what I want to say as the plot thickens. As the plot sickens me. This one goes out to a boat lost at sea. Capsized. No escape this time. Your keel will burst. You will sink to the bottom. Dawns are heartbreaking, every moon cruel and every sun bitter. Who will box you up and ship you home? This one goes out to your pretty face.
Ex-Gladiator
Downvote. Not damaged but broken. All work and no play made Jack a dull boy. Police officer brought down. Hollywood cures cancer likewise. Open wound. All for nothing. Nothing after all. Pretty soon their work here is done and this arena will gather dust. Forever endeavour. Downvote!
Frozen Solid Under Siege
The end is near. I see dead men walking right to their graves. They got hell to pay but I guess it was pay to play anyway. Dying in their sleep. Trapped inside the parameter, in this Mexican standoff gone wild. If it was an actual screenplay no one would even buy it. They wouldn't believe a single thing.
Hell Bent On Leaving
And for the first time it means something, and even though we gotta go home there's no point in looking back. So I'm gone, although I messed up. But I stil don't care. This I swear. I'm down with whatever comes my way, down paths that left me led astray. Won't bear this stone around my neck. For the last time, it meant something.
Homecoming Queen
It has been twenty years since they discovered her badly beaten body in a field somewhere. The seventeen year old former homecoming queen was reported missing after leaving work. Her car had broken down, so Johnny offered her a ride. Twenty years ago today. They never saw her alive again, and they never caught the killer. She was only seventeen.
Murat Reis The Younger
And for the second time we found ourselves knee-deep in a muddy grave. We should have fucked off earlier like we promised we would, but something came up. You know how it goes. Something came up over night and made it all turn to shit. Now there's still something quite awkward about the look in your eyes. Pierce right through me, walk right passed me. Last year I turned 33 and it's 2009, baby. We found heaven in our arms and hell in our heads. And all the paper trails that sprung from the wreckage seem to have been written in invisible ink. Accept fate, lose faith. Work hard, play hard. That's exactly how the world works for all of us. That's how it works alright: nothing like they said it would turn out to be, so be all you can be. Die beside me. So ugly on the inside. Must stay alive to make it passed 2009.
Not Impressed By Your Gaping Wound
Coming down impassive rivers dead-drunk, naked and ready to die. These blackened birds of prey, they all fly away from the branches in a panic. It took them so long to get here, and now their sudden departure feels so bad and leaves us incomplete. With shackled feet, in sickness and in health. What was it that shook the trees? I guess we'll never find out. The burden to carry this grief will kill us all, one by one. So be it. It's supposed to be a big deal, but I am not impressed. The face of the campaign bares a mouth of rotten teeth, it always has. Oh well. Birds of prey all flew away and they're never coming back.
One Year From Now
I hate to say these words I'm about to say but you'll thank me one year from now. I am illness-ridden with a vengeance. I am a figment of your imagination. I am hunter-gatherer. This is what it means to be carved out of pirate wood, with a clenched fist and an ear-to-ear grin. Wash yourself clean of wine-stains and splashes of vomit and know what it takes to be first in command. To devour by numbers instead of sitting back quietly, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for your ship to come in. It's probably right there, at the bottom of that black cold pool. So, here's to the unpaved open road instead of the asphalt parking lot. Fuck it, I got nothing left except for the always inappropriate "I'm sorry, but sometimes things don't work out".
Sinking Ship
Are you exiled in those bottomless nights? A million golden birds, life-force of the future. Down in the depths of the seven seas. Unconditionally, for once, finally. Hideous wreck. Eye of the storm. Going down and down and on and on and on and on and on... These deliriums and slow rhythms make me forget the storm in my head.
Spotting Wolverines
Had a minor setback. Figuring out all the things unsaid kept me up all night, thinking of you. This will never get out. These words will never escape my mouth. Or is it better to say; never escaped until this day? When nothing is said and done it doesn't make it okay for you to bury your nails inside my back. There are more important things in this world, but then again, can't wait to hold you in my arms. Again. Never sleep again. I've been told this is just a fase. Count the days or set them ablaze.
The More Flesh It Shows The Higher Up The Ladder It Goes
Eat me alive or bury me at sea. Hook, line and sinker like the cowards I grew up with. Nailing me naked to these blood red colored stakes. The more flesh I show the higher up the ladder I go. Fall from grace and from the twisted trees. Feed me to the lions. Let them tear me apart and hang me gutted from burning totem poles. The more tricks I turn the higher the flames will burn, and still my heart fucking yearns.
The Right To Remain Silent
Smoke clears and I got sight, a bad reputation and a poor excuse. They say fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months. Well aware I'm living in a world that needs to be rescued. In an age that is known for its mental decline. Born to celebrate hell, no longer in need of this routine.
The Slow Herd
It is forbidden to kill. Therefore all murderers are punished, unless they kill in large numbers or to the sound of trumpets. Out of step with the already dead. The slow herd will have to make way. Someday. Somehow.
Two-Headed Giant
>Teenage angst has paid off well indeed. These deliriums and slow rhythms make me forget... ehm... what's the name? It's on the tip of my tongue. It sounds like, if I'm correct, something that starts with... damn. It's in the words of this song but somehow they come out wrong. And it's a fact that these nights swallow me whole and lift the curse. They lift this cursed weight and will lift the ban someday.