Seven Drops of MadnessThe watchtowers all emptyThe horizon creeps in numbThe hitch hiker stands on desolate roadsCuticles chewed raw from his thumb********Hails down a silver caddilacRain beats down on its' hoodTrunk full of broken dreams and sacksHe gets in misunderstood**********'Headed to the sunset'He mutters to the wheelsThe driver nods and pumps the pedalLong white lines ,his heartbeat feels**********'Here's the sunset,I seek payment'The driver opens out his palmThe hitch hiker digs deep in his pocketsHe couldn't pay with charm**********'I've got seven drops of madnessOne for each day of the weekSunday will have long forgotten MondayBy the time that we next speak' ******The Driver grabs the tiny vialThe Hitch hiker crawls out through the door'Remember,but one drop a day nowOr you won't have any more'**********The Driver gulps down all seven dropsThe Hitch hiker stiffens with the screamsStuffs The Driver in trunkAmongst the sacks and broken dreams**********
This is where the Nihilist livesThis is where the Nihilist livesJust a stick on a treeJust a rock in a holeJust a heart that makes you liveNot a purpose to fulfillIs there reason?Is there really?I wonder.Actually I don't.I'll let you ponderWhile you fire and promote.If I told you the truth I'd be lying.Wouldn't you like that?I knew you would.Now run along and find a job.You're worthless without it, slob.Money is everything you know,and a house, and a spouseand a little cage with a mouseFor your children.You need to get you some of those.'Cause that's what life is.Yes.Is it?I knew you'd agree.Hey,want to come shopping with me?You need that phone, and that!And that big T.VWhile you're at it how 'bout that flashy S.U.V?And that coat, salmon is the new black!Quick!Go home!Clear all that old stuff out, if you wear it you look whack.Oh don't drink that,you'll have a heart attack!But it tastes so good?Then it's fine then.I'll have them write something nice on your graveYou know, stuff that w
The Auctioneer'Good evening gents and ladiesscreaming hungry babiesOn the table for the bidding tonightA fine second hand soul!'********'All parts have been restoredTo almost all its former gloryBut these cracks all bare a storyYou must buy to hear it told'**********'Start this auction shall we?A reserve price of one lifeDo I hear one life in exchangeFor this fine second hand soul?'**********'One life!' says the paddleIn the raised hand of a devilSitting placidly suspendedIn the middle second row**********'Do I hear two lives?Two lives for the takingOf this restored soul once a breakingTwo lives in exchange for this fine second hand soul?'**********'Two lives!' granted the pale bright manWith a weak weathered outstretched handTwo lives bid in exchangeThough the fine piece isn't whole**********'Do I hear three lives?Three lives surely a fair priceTo offer for this fine piece profferedThis piece on the table surely for three lives will be sold?'************
Chiaroscuro ReverieEmerge like a penumbraIlluminated, only the contour of your cheekan evanescent air of ethereal auraswiftly alights like a bird first to take wing,rustling whisper-feathereda vision of ambrosial mortality.were I to search for youafter a dalliance with your glance, chatoyant.I wouldn't find a scintilla,Not a breath, merely a whisp of memorya picture of emeralds and melodya diaphanous web imagined you to beSurely angel.Dulcet crimson moistened lipsThe heart of every hardened mans' chorusa reverie or lyrical elixirTo smooth the calloused , the jagged,the jaded core.The painterly brush of deity must be, must haveerstwhile spied a sunsetand for his own mantel created this felicitous gossamer spirit,a holy pastiche to grace his vision evermore.Were a harbinger to imbueThis ingenuewith promise of your visageOnce more to impart that lilt to now a quavering stutterIn the depths of the darka mellifluous cureTo my persistent inureOn my knees to the silent gods I'd mutt
JhatorJhatorBundled like a giftLast burden I, the weight of my vesselBares down on the backs of my loved onesThey will carry me up the mountainAnd ask nothing in returnAs I've carried my own beloved before themThey will thank the birds for who I wasAnd return to them the flesh I once believed I ownedThe messengers crowd eagerlyA knife to expose what was lifeBroken bones to end my taleBloodied stones, crimson painted payment of almsPieces of the vase stripped to strengthen their wingFor the journey skyward of my beingPound to dust what was once dust againThe breeze will carry me up, nurture the grainSun annointed to feedMy next vesselNow gone, the birds ask for rain.