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What drawer do you keep your stockings
Without secrets this life would be boring Realize we’re all a little vain Or we’d never get dressed in the morning
Moonshine martinis for the quiet lady
We all need an excuse to clear our minds Offering a compassionate ear The clues exist once you pull back the rind
Finding lipstick stains in the spilled ink
Dangerous curves under a vintage coat Hushed tones as to not spook such a woman The peculiarities of each soul; I take note
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Offering up a minimalism
Finding cool without effort Not weak enough to share Tough; never going to revert
A mental state removed
Not allowing for them to kill My soul still beating today The essence won’t be distilled
Try as you forever might
I won’t be boiled down to a word No single thought or character All my expressions slowly heard
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I’m not going to set myself up as fodder
I suffer enough through my own imagination No need to offer up a negligible sacrifice & contribute to my soul’s degradation Like this: Like Loading...
Picking out tunes from a lost childhood
Icons from an isolated life; memories fleeting
Can’t keep track of my overblown tragedies
My own imagination responsible for these beatings
My past is a weight, tugging at my fragile soul
Written missives, but she flew off to Ontario
Shunning my offerings for a comprehensive life
I speak of love, but she merely turns up the stereo Like this: Like Loading...
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I know you’re checking out your flaws
Standing at the mirror, counting imperfections Negative thoughts like these rather gnaw So I’m offering up thorough inspections It’s best to take it slow around curves Haste would be such an utter waste Wanting you to feel it in each of your nerves This examination shall be conducted by touch & taste Like this: Like Loading...
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Hiding discarded notes in a shoebox
A back-catalog of creativity to mend Offering our souls to be consumed & an apology if we might offend Like this: Like Loading...
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Rubbing their fingers over the stereo knob
The frequencies distorted on the airwaves Kings of the new world & thus apocalyptic Searching for something more pragmatic to crave
These technocrats with no concept of reality
Tasking – without offering an alternate fate Demanding citizens for homages to be digital With no power to control – or else we attenuate
Words of peace have the chance to amplify
Even when we’re feeling out of time/out of sync Don’t need their fiber optic lies to survive A blind man loses all when forced to blink
Tapping into a passion without any circuits
Our transistors are live; we’re lovers thus discrete There’s no stopping us when their signal’s weak There’s nothing but fire & sparks when our wires meet
This life is forever altered now we’re here
Do not attempt to adjust the squelch You’re listening to Radio Free America Standing proud & robust like Raquel Welch Like this: Like Loading...
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I don’t know what the hell I’m doing
I’m just trying to feel my way through This existence offers many pitfalls Working within our struggles, those Blues There’s only one way to survive here You’ve got to continue to fight your urges Finding the right path to paradise Piecing together words to sing the dirty dirges Like this: Like Loading...