Anyone care to tell me if this is poetry, songwriting, or a pile of shit
i weep for misted windows look so pretty from the outside
Machiavellian streaks and alpha roles
21st Century archetypes and gameplans
like sightseeing without a window
damaging thoughts racket in my brain
THE WORLD HAS PROBLEMS that drive me insane
when we are intimate the shit fades away
personalised and outspoken, bringing up my up bringing
the symbols written in the sky
parental guidance lead to big brother
lifes too short to hide from loving one another
proud to be machiavellian
me and you wouldnt get along
you look too lazy
culture moves me to take matter into my own hands
search the spine of the nations closed mind
not finding anything but myself still so hungry after eating for days satisfaction wont be prey for this hungry pair of eyes
we must share, and share alike
cant see clear
inconfident and thoughtless
blood septic, head of destruction
“maybe ive got love all wrong”
and then i see my mothers son, in the window,
after two weeks of sunshine
and i ride more settled this river we call life
undertaking the marvels with the best combined effort we provide
then, why come down from this point?
Left Of Centre
No comments:
Post a Comment