one of these days
i'm going to drop
everything
and make my way
onto the country

period

i wont say goodbyes
or take much of my
belongings
just spin the knife
then up and leave

period

my critics say
i am metaphorically
implying
that i need you
to gut me

period

when they actually
do notice that i'm
missing
i will take up my
profession in pottery

period


tonight i admitted
toying with death is
addicting
i'm not ashamed of
my vice's instability

period.

so, did you hear the news
about the wasted youth?

their fragile little lives
taken with regretful truth.

they were such nice boys,
such young, nice, boys.

snatched from right jaws of adulthood.
never to view their fruits of labor

oh lord, how could a tragedy like this
happen in such a quaint little town?

our deafeningly quiet little town.

home to the future leaders of tomorrow
the ones that were going to get real big

big and strong, smart and rich
wake up, and piss excellence.

just look at all they have done for this society

i mean, i'm just so shocked
we've been ever so careful

in raising doves
we've bred wolves

so tell me lord:
where have we gone wrong?

tell me who should deserve
a mournful sentence like theirs

written on some scrapyard stone
sinking in a middle class sea

so calm, and serene

and if you listen close
you can hear it.

nothing.

this place
and its people

so very silent.

how will we ever
move on without them?

criminal! oh villain, petty thief!
given the chance to pawn your off soul
youre the first on line to cash in
for a few more minutes of pure heaven
youre a runner at heart, but still a kid
and no home will never welcome your sins
such deep pockets, empty, youre vacant
another night virtually transparent
frigid, staring back at a concave light
distraught, hath no faith, hath no heart
so very young, youre an afternoon special
a glimpse to a future of dealing corrupt
take what you can get and give what you owe
oh you owe so much more than you'll ever know