Monday, May 30, 2011

This all sounds very cyclical
 i could stand it on a bicycle 
but my feet are killing me 
instilling me with regret
 filling me with doubt 
about what life's really about. 
the vultures are circling the culture
and its giving in 
living in sin and drowning in gin
 with the outsiders frowning looking in...
Theresa time to grow old and a time to grow cold.

This time fits neither mold
This couldnt have been bought
Despite you fascination with currency 
The trite dedication to tyranny 
Fall in line in time to get your dime
Fine by me
My time is here 
My Time is NOW
Fear for me dear 
Tear for me dear
To late to hear from me 
To late to be near to me 
But what is time to be so late.

What is love without some hate?
Where is eden when the seventh trumpet is rung?
Where will we be 
When the Patron saint of the LOST and the DAMNED
has sung her song to every last man? 

Will this span of time prove lucrative 
or is it the incentive to lie down 
without a sound
calm before the storm
worn and torn 

No comments:

Post a Comment