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
I’m Not Going To Set Myself Up As Fodder
offer
Picking Out Tunes From A Lost Childhood
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
I Know You’re Checking Out Your Flaws
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
Hiding Discarded Notes In A Shoebox
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
Rubbing Their Fingers Over The Stereo Knob
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
I Don’t Know What The Hell I’m Doing
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
Offering Up A Minimalism
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
Captain Q 