Light me! Burn the burn that hates to love to live to play. Crazy! The life so loud that won't show the way. In confusion surrender, in despair reach out, in triumph forget what good is about. These are the things that procreate, centered in a self that's easy to hate. Soul, I love you for leading me well. Mind, you are wonderful for executing the passions of the heart. Self... you still need to put those things together. You have far to go but it's getting better. Live the life you want to live, give all the things that you can give. So many layers, afraid of getting cold, but you better learn to stay warm before you get old. We must believe our hearts are true. I practice, I fail, but I will push through.
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Smell the flowers
Wine and dine It's so beautiful to decide You don't have to tell me twice I'm not taking your advice at all At the door there's a knock Sudden loss of blood leads to shock Now my wish is your command Your presence is in demand And I feel obliged to shut my eyes and make a wish again Call it quits call it quits Off to bed off to bed You should stop while you're You're not reaping what you sow Cause it's all in who you know Ignorance is bliss unless you wish to know the truth and live You're an empty you're an empty heart Yes, it is a small, small world and the damn thing is shrinking fast. They talk about butterflies fluttering their wings in remote tropical rainforests -- but now it's more like a punch-up drunk at a bar, a stray bullet fired while you wait for the bus, swerving to avoid debris in the road, smashed by a semi-truck, or spinning out of control across six lanes of speed -- a dirty look can get you killed. Simple misunderstandings can lead to murder, the way we are today. Who knows? Maybe there really is someone's mother somewhere lying in a hospital bed because you don't watch your step on the sidewalk. These days, I don't think there are many coincidences. We're too close together.
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice -- though the whole house began to tremble and you felt the old tug at your ankles. "Mend my life!" each voice cried. But you didn't stop. You knew what you had to do, though the wind pried with its stiff fingers at the very foundations, though their melancholy was terrible. It was already late enough, and a wild night, and the road full of fallen branches and stones. But little by little, as you left their voices behind, the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds, and there was a new voice which you slowly recognized as your own, that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper into the world, determined to do the only thing you could do -- determined to save the only life you could save. There's a spindle in the middle of the town, rolling up the scenery. It spins and spins until it's just the concrete and me. In the morning it unfolds like a tapestry through the parks and the city streets. And there we stand, just like we've always been. It's you and me until the bitter end.
May I step out of character?
Or is it unlike me to do that? Tell me. Sometimes I forget what I am like in real life. Morning is
A new sheet of paper For you to write on. Whatever you want to say, All day, Until night Folds it up And files it away. The bright words and the dark words Are gone Until dawn And a new day To write on. |