The king is dead long live the king
For he reigned well then fell
And he took all his joy and as a little boy
Decided against the trip that took his life for a dip
In a pool of lava that collided with the clouds
And the calamity ensued and the world was sued
And the time well spent was nothing more than backwards and bent
And it took a loud type of person to decipher the message
The hate that bled out and demanded the truth through massage
Crochet into the abyss as if nothing was every missed
And no one was ever pissed or kissed
At the date of their wedding because they keep on forgetting
And regretting until they are back to bed wetting
Their memories focused on the finality of their indecisiveness
And determining that through their devices
They have cataclysm in the last of the virtue
And sought out a tissue, for their running nose
Going toe to toe with the digressions
As they descent into rambling and shambling
The world that they thought they had built
And took it apart until it
It was lost in a moment of a hurricane
And not knowing the name
Grazing on grasses sucking up all the gasses
And laughing off their asses as each new day passes
As they sit bored in classes, and subject to crass-diss-
Idence when nothing ever made sense in that momentary instance
For they forgot to look around take a stance and plan on finishing
Young and old talking about tomorrow as though it were borrowed
But not returning, not determining the end of the road
Where they bolted down their courage and the sticking place snapped
And the world clapped between two monstrous palms
And cracking, and fracking, and crackling beneath the undermined world in which they could stand
And blamed the entire world, took it for a brief whirl and destroyed the song
For they took far too long, and prolonged it, destroyed it, detonated it
Took it beyond its original foundation to result in something incredibly ugly
And though they look smugly,
Oh they do not determine that sort of truth off hand
And they may not be your man but the plan and they stain the face
Plan a trace
Take a smooth pace and take control of everything as though it were something that they did not determine to be the truth of the matter when nothing is ever the same and you cannot take control of your life because you are too busy determining that you do not know the way into the unknown because their is no such place
Where men keep on putting women in their place
When in fact we are all human
Roles are destroyed ready to be cast as whoever we want except for basic biological tendencies but not everyone is moving on we are waiting on some sort of anarchy
To release us from this absurd anarchy and the end is not the beginning but the beginning is coming to an ending
And although the water is choppy and this poetry is sloppy, and though i’ll paste and copy all the sort of ideas of men who were twice as crappy
I’m still happy that my thoughts move so fast that they match the rhythm of my fingers
And even though it takes a while to get it down and be good singers
Just like every other form of work and of production it takes practice and good determination
To release yourselves as a god
And speaking of god let's determine that there is nothing so extraordinary as someone who cannot take themselves lightly, judging through eyes of pure and unadulterated anger and animosity, and apathy and catastrophe go hand in hand
Bland and mumbling mouths
They cough and spew and speak on stupid predictions
Making undermined predictions
And there is a man on the other side of the mirror who keeps on going keeps on determining the end results, and he’s peering over the side of the stall spying on the dirtiness that is going on behind the scenes all omnipotent and such, like they get themselves out of their funk it's a fucking disgrace of bullshit and they keep on singing on and on as though it is going to end.
Here in this place there is nothing as complicated as loving someone as if loving is something that you just learn to produce and you can’t get out of your life and determine the end result in the end it is nothing more than a public hanging and we determine the truth of it because it is something that does not make much sense and it's over now the world is going to be the end of it all and the song ends and we begin to see it
The way they keep on redeeming
And preening
And cleaning
And perceiving
The end of the dirty dealing
But who are we kidding
As we’re bleeding
And dealing
Without deceiving
And careening out of control
The collision is imminent and it is ready to hit and the song doesn’t make much sense but keeps my mind sharp and incisive because in real life I am nothing but indecisive and it's killing me inside to hear that noise come to end a clickity clack of the keys as i lickity splickity send out words into the spaces that cyber around and kill my mind
And its time
To tow that line
To take a chance
Put on the pants
Of an adult and see the boot straps
Come unflapped
And take the moment to tie
And sigh
And be blind
But kind
During this sign
From the lord
Who took an hour
Opened the door
Saw the necessary conditions of his present
And his gift was lost under the Christmas tree
Looking like the people are dead and thus late for tea
Where Santa and the others took the elves for a believer
It's time to look around
And see how loud the clowns are now
Honking and bonking bonking each other in the head
Where their dead
In their beds as though sleeping
While their mothers are weeping
And there was this old woman who lived in a shoe and didn’t know what to do but she did have a clue for she took shelter and do what she do in the ends it's enough to walk two by two
And stick the puppies atop the world
Mayonnaise and pickles have no place
I repeat have no place
On their sandwich
But are welcome on mine.
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