I've gotta come up with a scheme for catching this prey I've watched him travel the same path every day He loves the power that he gets from him uniform It tells him, it's his right to make them conform
Hell I know everything about him that a predator should know His home was once here, but isn't here any more He went to the academy and got sworn in Came out brainwashed and became one of them
He packed up his shit determine to relocate Move among those with which he couldn't relate Trying to live a life that he couldn't...
Just like the whirlwind.. Act like in the sunshine.. If you have a Rizla.. I'll stay until the killer.. Above and beyond me, it's fire.. Thank God am still fully inside my attire... Above and below me.. Left to right, wherever I turn everyone's a liar.. So Holy ghost fire..
Not one of the Livingstone's .. Though am trapped in this thunderstorm.. In the name of the Big Man.. Bless me with more spine..
Beware of the shagnasties before reading echoing in my veins of death's decor of silence in the dowager's web listening to the keys of Rachmaninoff with the cawing of a raven's regurgitation as shadows dance in dark's stagnation at strep throat's invocation echoing in my veins of death's decor now shred what you have read
In death, there is a breath of decay with silence in this wood corral from the Yippee-ki-yay man returning to dust without Maybelline high-up on the hill as twilight settles with silence in this wood corral
..a chatter is born from inside my soul opening my eyes on sleeveless pale as my pen goes weak listening to my echos screaming my obscurity in the night of the tallow but life is a candle with a short wick and death is a chameleon changing colors...
They are coming our way barefoot, and red dust we sink into apathy. Churches made into dance halls and brothels. Christianity is dead, our culture based on our faith has been debased it, is called egalitarianism. Banners and sword. Heads roll down a hill into a blazing valley. God has forsaken us.
The basement, where cars are parked in neat little boxes in a row, is cold and creepy. It looks like a place where the fascists can execute dissenters those who go on about liberty for the masses. There are bloodstains on the wall and cars are silent witnesses to the massacre. From the roof of the garage, blood drips of the tortured on the first floor. A black and white western on another wall drown the screams of those who finally realize there is no escape. I sit in my car; it is ten years old and is not ...