Wednesday, September 05, 2012


please tell me what you're doing here
a mile 'neath the troposphere
the pirates and the mutineers
take solace in their lies
I'm terrified of what might change
so, I hold tight to the mountain range
until the experts start to say
they're moving in the night

And naval vessels underneath
the crashing waves and coral reefs
all marginal in their defeat
are swimming in the wake
of wartime promises behind
the resources and border lines
to charge forth from the highway signs
of hometowns and red states

Let's strip it down to what we are
just pulsing blood and magma scars
philosophers will lead the charge
away from truth and grace
But in Pangaea I will sit
An unrepentant dualist
humanity and earth exist
separate but the same

Plate tectonics, tapestry
the dualistic death of me
I'll fly away into the sea
if it is still around
so shift with me and let us call
the communists and capital
just what they are, a rubber ball
that's always going to bounce

it's friction that keeps me alive
as oil revenues survive
technology and suicide
they travel hand in hand
and in the streets the children play
pretending that they're heads of state
but they never emancipate
the slavery of man

so take me down to paradise
the seaboards shift and foliage climbs
the sun burns red like traffic lights
and wind ruffles my hair
and here, I'm starting my campaign
to find somewhere to place the blame
of all those nightmares that I face
that linger in the air

now, fault lines fade and eagles fly
judiciaries shut their eyes
and think about the better times
when everything was green
now darkness isn't far away
from small, complacent border states
let's hope the demographics change
So we can find the mean

But from my tower I can see
the colorful menagerie
the circus choreography
the chances that we take
for freedom is a clever lie
for what is it to compromise
and find something to hide behind
when the angry titans wake

No, nothing will I hope to gain
no wars to win, no land to claim
we're only what our hands have made
and it's not looking grand
but one sweet voice now shines like gold
the liveliest, if truth be told
all martyrdom and manifold
regards me as a man

"oh, struggle not, you self made king
you overreaching boyish thing
the legislation that you dream
it will not get you home
for life is yours if you so choose
extended forth with life to lose
here in these hands, I hold the truth
that you are not alone."