we were made of dick jokes and high-fidelity comraderie
Andy Warhol promised us 15 minutes of fame
how lame when a game becomes your life
your life becomes a game, hidden in an arcade
thank God for the cold nights, and dark days
Bruce Wayne lost his utility belt
under the icy exterior you're feeling me melt
the junky is high on heroine, killing hisself
no one to save the abandoned kids
ribs protrude out of the Hollister shirt
but he faces life with that upbeat smirk
you'd never know that he just got beat up
the wounds of nostalgia are kissed by fresh lips
the endless quest for monogamy and friendship
theres a tempest in the waters before us
pure lustre in the eyes; betrayed and whored up
we all work for America Inc.
whether we know it or not
illuminati got the drop on all you fools
the pedestrians and the equestrians
when the mind is dislodged, the quest begins
A quest called tribe, its alive, its ever-fluent
theres a universal-euphoria that it produces
tell the kids in the factory to break the cycle
tell the kids in the sweatshop leave their station
laugh at politicians lost in their orations
something to be said about pre-meditated meditation
don't forget to not take your medication
there I go rhyming the -ions again
lazy rhymester with a pen...........
.......today he's at a loss for metaphor
and if I was,
you’re in a frenzy, I’ll pull your heartlace
and attach our capillaries
&, you’ll call it psychologic detachment
&, they'll call it hate
if we could only find the awkward silence.
&, longwinded by nature, I stand tall
with overstanding
we were made of dick jokes and high-fidelity comraderie
we became
"like your hopes: nothing
like your paradise: nothing
like your idols: nothing
like your heroes: nothing
like your artists: nothing
like your religions: nothing
Links:
Title Unworthy-DubtheDamaja
Tusk-Spokenbohemian
