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
sacrifice
You Give Up Your Voice
You give up your voice
When you choose to take their hand
You sacrifice your honor
When you go joining their faceless band
You deem yourself unremarkable
Once they take away your vote
No longer choosing for yourself
Their drudging spirit grabs your throat
The hoard directs you how to think
& can make you recite all sorts of things
You deserve your time in Hell
When you hand them your own strings
I’m Not Anywhere Near Perfect
I’m not anywhere near perfect
Contrary to your fictitious notions
Examining me through a skewed lens
Though I’ve been cleansed by the ocean
I’m not what you think you want
Flawed in all the wrong places
Underlining fragility & a fractured soul
But you’re still focused on the pretty faces
I can’t explain all the improper deviations
I’m not what you’ve wished you might discover
You’ve transcribed me into a possibility
But I’m already tethered to my perpetual lover
Don’t sacrifice your dreams
For what probably won’t ever be
Hold tight to your illusions
For only then can life set you free
You Don’t See It
You don’t see it
The boys not getting enough sleep
Those who have abandoned their homes
Keeping watch over the watery deep
You don’t see it
Those who dream of something better
Youth sacrificing blindly
Riding the tide, salt spray getting wetter
You don’t see it
Loading sea bags in early morning hours
Walking the gangplank in the face of fear
Trusting their lives to a Greater Power
Your Painted Lips Upon The Tea Cup
Your painted lips upon the tea cup
A bountiful feast spread before you
A grateful life filled with laughter
There is nothing you wouldn’t do
Thinking of everyone else first
Within that most beautiful chest
Contains a self-sacrificing heart
Please know I’ll always love you the best
Typing, Hacking, Thinking – Smokin’ Hot
Typing, hacking, thinking – Smokin’ hot
Typing your best to empty all thought
Pouring your soul into force upon the keys
Your woman walks past with a dress above the knees
Now you can’t think or type or stammer straight
The hell with with deadlines – this one’s gonna be late
You pray to the spirits of procastrination or whatever you think of
Burn this project right now, sacrifice it in the name of love
Captain Q 