broken brain

 the truth is in the feel      in the root and sinew      the truth is in my gut      twisting in my bowels       I don’t have to think      the truth is in my blood       I have it in my power      to light my own fire      so they tried to lock me up        and quench my flame       in the name of good order     they put a pox on my house      and softly dragged me under       they gave me poisonous pills        to alleviate their pain       but I took their tender ministrations       and flushed them down the crapper       they tell me hell is still half empty     its streets are paved with lies      they say the devil knows my name       which comes as no surprise     

night

 I felt the heat from the stars     radiate across the universe     as I lay in the tall grass        with the good green earth        growing all around me         there, at the end of the world       night reigned supreme       and night seeped        into the heart of me      into my very soul    and I knew my days were numbered       but the nights would last forever

alibi

I came and came      ten thousand times      into warmer embraces than these     through summer’s misadventures      and reckless indiscretions      I once had a life       or so it seemed to me     but you’ll never reach me now      these are my darker days       when I’m perfectly alone       you say the dark don’t bother you       but it sure as hell bothers  me      you can take the load off      but I’ll never be that free       I wish I was loaded       I wish I was high      I wish I was somebody else     coz that’s the perfect alibi 

deathbird

 the cry of night       the sound of the street      deathbird      spread your wings       take me to that other place      but not just now     not for a while       give me space      I only need space      to rest a bit       to gather strength   before the day      so kiss my lids       bless my dreams       don’t murder me     just let me sleep

ten thousand miles

 I’m sick of life in the hobo jungle       I’ll have to concoct an escape    I’ve marshalled my resources      my charms and brittle toys       but nothing’s ever real     so I’ll keep my place       wait for my moment          you don’t need an excuse to be poor      you don’t need a uniform to fight in the war         but you need a little faith    to help you through the night     it’s a long way from cleaning windows       but it’s hardly sunny side up       I’m like you      I have lived in the odd moment     and I remember what you said      in your little voice      you said     “I think I’ve had enough, so thank you and good luck”       I didn’t require your ministrations       I expected no gratitude for mine       but I could have used your hand      these last ten thousand miles

I thought I won the war

 I have a hard time waking most mornings     I have a hard time sleeping most nights      but  I dreamed I won the war     and everything was alright    there was dancing in the streets      and I saw myself on TV     but that was sometime  yesterday      I only own today   

when I get low      I get high       they can’t take that away     what do you make of a man like me?   I got one foot on the platform     the other foot on the train      I thought I was me for a moment       but I’m somewhere back in time     I thought I won the war      but it was only in my mind      

instrumental violence

 you can’t control me now     you’re no longer in my scheme     I’m not afraid of you       you won’t hurt me again      there’s nothing you can do      nothing you can say       I’ve had enough of you    and your brutal ways     you call your aggression justice      and my resistance crime      I’ll no longer play your victim     just as I’ll never play your thug    but if you think I’ll be a bystander     then you can think again     there are forms of subtle violence      that breed conformity      I will not acquiesce to them    you won’t get that from me

northern lights

 I hear the jets tearing across the sky      they’re on their way to hell    peals of rolling thunder    the muted cries of death      I’ve had my share of sleepless nights    but I’m at home in the dark     and home is where the heart is, right?     sometimes I think about dying      I think of little else     I’ve gone transatlantic    I’ve learned to fly myself      I’m drinking what you’re drinking     neat scotch    the drink of free men      the red eye to oblivion     I ripped a hole in the night      my dreams came tumbling out

maggots

 I’m not feeling too clever today      someone shrank my knackers     and obscured my true identity     I’m out of bed    or so I think     It’s still dark outside      but it’s darker in      there’s a hole in my bucket     I’m leaking spiritual energy      but I’m rid of her    and she’s rid of me      summer died, she blamed it on me      I don’t hold that against her       we both know I have it in me      you see, it was easy to smile as I lied     easier than the taste of fear and shame     but it feeds the worm inside     and he’s a hungry maggot      the guardian of my psyche      the one who’s in control        here I am fucking, eating, grunting      I’m just rotting meat in a garbage can       maggots rule my world       my maggots have a master plan      it’s called metamorphosis       on the other side of heaven        they’ll have sprouted wings      and they’ll be planting eggs in the fertile ground       of my decomposing mind

snitch

…and where am I now?     I’m in the glasshouse again      and where are you?     you’re home and dry   open the window and breathe in that gloom       it’s that kind of night      in that kind of room    don’t touch me now     you’ll catch something cruel     I love you some      I hate you too      but you didn’t bring me down      I did that to myself       you drink like a thief      one eye on the door     I should have seen you coming      I’d have spit in your eye      coz nobody loves a snitch     or trusts a fucking liar…

 

hip priest

 he smiled     and smiled     as if he were willing to play the villain if necessary and that’s the way of it     in my neighbourhood     he was slightly fleabag       you know the type     vaguely disaffected     stinking of skunk and sweat     he spoke low and slow      didn’t give away too much     he played a private game        no one knew it’s name      all human suffering       resided in his eyes      but he didn’t seem to care      he was nearly clued in      almost wise       his were written memoirs     pen and paper      torn from life     he was veteran of some ancient revolution     but he wasn’t a victim     he was a survivor     he’d seen thousands like me        eager to impress      with my vacuous knowledge    but he was a book closed to me     “…nothing matters anymore, the war was lost long ago…       …I stopped resisting the flow and learned to let go…    …it’s not the best of all possible worlds, but it’s the only one we know…”    he was an individualist      and if he ever got lonely he didn’t let on      he’d been weathered smooth       by millennia of dust and rain    I was an acolyte - he’d send me to the shops       but nothing he said was news to me      nothing he said seemed real

looney tunes

 ever since the funny farm     my self doubt is crippling      it’s an existential funk       bipolar flavour      I’m just a mirror to a world rotten with mediocrity      I’m a television head     I’ve abolished the dark of night    and bleached my brain with photons      my thoughts are merely the regurgitation     of twenty four hour programming    I’ve lost all sense of the real      I’m a cartoon man      moulded in a cartoon world      I manage my appearance     and the illusion of individuality     but there’s no such thing as real       there are only layers of fiction      and that’s all folks      that’s all she wrote