Sunday, October 25, 2009

SPunk Lyrics

I___ wish there was a devil
and I- had< a soul. to sell.
and the girl that I call angel
wasn't. whore enough for hell

Give me all your women
fatties serve me as cooks
but-her-faces raise the children
I would have with chicks with looks

A citizen of Pax America
pays his taxes like a tool
bankers dilute his dollars
still he works for them, the fool
on the pole, goes his daughter
she works to go to school
who needs a homemaker
when families break in two
loans go out to the empire
dying to subjugate Zulu

The modern WASP, a pussy
european men suck fags
leave their work for Juan and Lucy
the only free male is a stag

When my ears hear at long last
a tale of proud white men
they are talking of the past
and missing way back when

everyone's a christian
don't you tell me otherwise
cause Christ is as you imagine
getting between the church's thighs
don't you dare find that offensive
for a man must know his wife
in heaven together they'll live
without argument or strife

Son you need to get a purpose
must I repeat what I have said
very well then 'til you jave it
you can find me in your head

I will live here sometimes silent
like a schizophrenic's friend
study yourself like a fictional character
if your psyche you would mend

(accelerando during final verse)
sing along
so my song
has your tongue
listen, hear
so your ear
has my song
sing along
so my song
has your tongue
in an ear
making out
oh dear
fucked up lyrics
for an ear trick
fucked her
a mother
motherfucker!

Thursday, October 22, 2009

The Life Unlived

When I've no more left to live,
I pine for the life unlived.

She stirs upstairs,
shelling crawfish,
dropped tails fall in the crawlspace.

In this segment of my timeline,
I am doing mighty fine,
yet there's more I want for mien.

Trapped where I usually sleep,
my past: something I don't want to keep.

He's hardly real years afterwards,
his absence the silence between words,
giving sounds substance.

Sans silence there's white noise,
a drone unadorned is ignored,
pitches unchanging hardly heard.

Invisible in a herd of people,
even we don't want to learn ourselves.

They're worse than us,
which makes us better,
superior versus mediocre.

Y'all hunt for fun,
find regrets,
ah gather we're slaves and pets.

Stuck with me,
the life unlived seems...

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Hoard

The plane's unplanned landing turned to crashing when it ran out of track.
Its' passengers tricked with promise of refuge felt a deluge of false hope.
Meanwhile, surface to air missiles fired, a few missed, most hit.
Feeling ill from sweltering heat the pilot tried to take them safely down.
Their bodies ash by a namelessly small town.
Refugees from the Saron Gi were hated by the natives.
Settled in, relocated, their women were raped, left to burn in mob-lit tenements.
The ugliest were spared to share their story as a warning.
Sarongis unwelcome.
Starving men lined the streets in neighboring lands.
Why would they welcome an influx of begging hands?
There was not paying work enough for the men already there.
Yes Sarongis work to live but why should natives care?
Wives hear gossip of their husbands and new prostitutes.
Accused in public the whores are beat with bamboo shoots.
Neighbor kids throw stones at the ugly, smelly, refugees.
Parents of the Sarongi say come straight home.
Villages used to be beautiful.
Now they're blighted by attached camps.
Life was much more wonderful before these leeches clamped on natives.
The patchy tents are a terrible sight.
Someday they will all be razed.
Some crops are eaten by fungi and a maneater stalks the hills.
It is because Sarongis are bad luck.
UN workers bring the big villages medicine in a truck.
Americans teach English and missionaries preach Jesus.
There are not enough seats in the class.
But Sarongi children show up early and take the best seats.
They don't till fields to ensure their families eat.
They're free in the morning and all day to wait.
Helpful foreigners call it bullying when a Sarongi's told his place.
Aid workers waste their medicine cleaning cuts on a Sarongi child's face.
Why don't they stay in their own country?
There's not enough UN or US aid to share.
Sarongis don't care if they steal.
There's not enough America for the world.
White men come to give gifts but greedy Sarongis smell free things a country away.
Most natives dance 'round the bonfire built on the plane.
It goes out the next morning.
No survivors remain.