the god father paradox

i got a hell of a story
for a journalist
how do you start a poem?
how do you finish a symphony?
the further away i try to go
the closer i get

holdin on to a life
that does'nt want me anymore
jumpin in and out of bodies
will tire out the ghost
or even a god

it's hard to tell
somebody still trying
that you and all your friends are dead
it's already over

bit off topic but
spam and hot sauce is the shit
scout's honor
here's a can to my father
the anarchist's cookbook
never had instructions
on how to make a pizza

i can sure as shit
tie a noose
a hell of a rape knot
and a a box line
if you even want your barge next to mine

i stare
at my faint reflection
in the mirror
but my head keeps gettin in the way

yo is'nt it all about who you love
i could take but never teach you
it's all about who you love


i had a shotgun in my mouth last night
over a rock in my boot
earlier in the afternoon
sunshine on my back
storm clouds
comin in from the west
but thas still where i'm headed

i know,i know,i know
i saw a star once as well
but figured him quite the obnoxious liar
something about imploding
does'nt sit with me well

the compass
keeps on spinning
no such thing as forgiveness
i'd be an idiot
if i did'nt hold a grudge

so maybe by easter i'll be home
and we can trash each other's houses
punch eachother in the face
over some plutonic girlfriend petting
maybe by easter i'll be home

won't be much shaving
when the apocolypse comes
lot of accoustic song singing
accompanied by accapella freestyle
i think i'll be ready