oxygen
I'm twice born, once in 7-something
Once as the resurrection of honorable function
Been shoveling coal as the engine's doctor
Long enough to see my silhouette acquire a permanent kink in the posture
The maintenance of icicle spirit by the warmth of true endearment
Was, is, and forever will be a luxury
I'm a sovereignty columnist fathering doom document
Curséd version of a certain Virgin Mary womb occupant
(Oh my Lord, what have I gotten myself into?
Seems like I woke up in yesterday again
Another day, another dream…)
I know swamp rats who never suckled oxygen purification
Sure as blurry mayhem had ‘em spent (Zen freeze)
Stuck until my friend leaves, puppet for the plummet committee
Sputtering bum, numb enough to stomach the city
Who’s that hugging the silhouetted willows where the hill’s crest pan out?
Barter candy-coated crab apples and sugar-dipped death hand outs
I got a plan, I'll tourniquet my quest
Then feed a needle in the bad ending to mute the mess
When patience gallops with absentee ballots, I shove in the button
Strutting to exhibit mankind’s hostility function with a (heave)
Paling in comparison to Matthias, Goliath
Lies the rickety frame of the wicked silence
I died the day my nameless creator and I bumped eyelids
Swear to Christ we saw the same thing for a second (What’s that?)
The grand mosaic depicting historical glory of the legend
Nursed me through the time stick-and-stone mixers hexed my fertile crescent
Now all's well, I'm laughing on the inside I swear
Just trying to keep my head above red tide despair
My imperfections pair off with buddy system symmetrics morbidly
So every second of discontent’s logged accordingly
Now let’s turn mummy subtle perfection to preserve glory condition
And pray for the day a starchild tugs the ribbon
Better land a two-hand grip on that spoonful-of-sugar medical chaser
Credible crazer antidote's terrible, taste her
Barter with a Stolen Soul Peddler, pigeon backed feather pen
Never said a grin implied health
Consider me a mobile advertisement for that hybrid blend of fabrics I deemed practical
Now is you is or is you ain’t compatible?
I feel the wind in my opinions
Plus hyper clutched to crush one’s gingerbread tenement awful
It’s like the day the great oak met the sawmill
A lifeline of spectacular expansion meets the reaper at the hand of one man’s tantrums
My friend’s got a book about dreams. I look and laugh
I dreamed a book about my friends and still can’t decipher the half
Chatterbox. Now let a soothsayer major cater to a kinked breed
Battered on the brink of disease
(Well) I am (skin and bones), I am (sin and poems), I am (tin and chrome)
Grin and groans, fuck it, I’m tinted quinacridone
Blow the petals off a dandelion trying to make my little gypsy blush
And felt as if I’d actually accomplished something
Fortify the bullies, let a joke soak in the treatment
Sit and watch the percentages teeter on the evening
Caught a ghost up in the fuselage seconds before the cog dropped to the sticks
And stared him down until he fixed it
Oh, fashion? It’s cool and all, but what about God?
(Oh God? well he’s the man, but I mean, what about reading?)
What like novels? Man, that don’t hold my attention. How about television?
(Television hurts my brain. How about walking in the rain?)
Oh I hate walking. It’s boring. How about some old-fashioned gone fishin'?
(Yeah, fishing’s great, but I just hate hooking the bait. Let’s dance)
Nah, I got two left feet plus motion sickness. How about breakfast?
(Man I’m hungry, but that means I'mma have to borrow some money)
Let’s fly a kite. (Let’s burn the generals). Let’s sell lemonade. (Let’s drink)
Let’s poke a hole inside the tugboat, ease on back, and watch it sink
(Nah, let’s fail a pupil once a year at random to shake the academy)
Casually note the blossom of phantom alignment. (Strategy)
Well, I’ll make a waterfall out of water and autumn
Sorta caught ‘em when their guards mimicked the vintage knuckle drag sagged in the coffin
I affiliate my rag dummy appearance with a most cohesive spirit
Cried a river yesterday, ain’t shed a tear since
‘Gimmie gimmie’, crooned the Old Yeller community cartoon
The carousel ballooned extravagant. Aware
Inviting, yet I’m sworn to adamant manner and saddle in worn head, thorax, and abdomen
To primitive horseback galloping
My index finger’s dressed in my talisman
Branded up in the jackal skin, I spy mark of the product
Well, one must pardon ye old common sheep detour weaving graceful through the prime directive column
Pray the virus retreats to allotted phylum
Beanstalk with a fiend walk and my name is mud
But that’s got a ring to it, so my soil welcomes the flood
I walk as God’s practical joke on man, practically broke
And if they raise my rent again, I’ll spend my nights practically soaked
Who spit silk dimension through the noose looped by the rafters?
After lack of reasoning, dead ‘em. (It’s like "three, two, one, bedlam")
Ooh, I’m hung. I clung to hope, but see you in hell
I’ll be that clear blue icicle that simply refused to melt
Sturdy iron grillage, tin can skeleton
Skull of a thousand dilapidated dream remnants
Here to convict based on a tin bucket of evidence
That stairway to heaven’s merely a legend so the peasants dream well
(Blesséd peasants, blesséd peasant dream well
Every blesséd peasant’s just trying to dream well…)