grumpyWords in vain.
January 3rd 2008 05:18
Private thoughts of Death - what other escape
is open to life servers in mad man made hell?
Other peoples words, other peoples noises
stir the air, confusions, folly and wisdom
paint cell walls, fills halls, grinds minds
peace shattering, never stopping, mirror images
of human ignorance, lust and self grandeur.
Total sensory illusion wrapped robots ply trades,
new illusions masking unrest turning yesterdays
questions into retroactive answers for tomorrows
fashionable madness.
Private thoughts of Death become sensible. Listening
while new age pansies grope the young searching hopefuls
from pens of social revolution hacks who never knew
you had to learn to live before you knew how to die.
Easy cop outs made easier, walking from nothing into nowhere
Its all shit, man. These honkies just shootin' up, jerkin' off
Only we can see the dark. Black eyes, black devils teeth
Blackness in everything, Satan shootin' up the world turners
while they dream. Well dream on wankers, you gave us freedom,
Took away our future.
Private thoughts of Death become sensible alternatives
to mind wrenching, nature twisting right thinking when
all that noise is stopping you thinking maybe its all fucked up
and nobody wants to know life is not this grinding drag
from Happy meals to Salvo handouts cut in techno dream parlour
images of hate, blood and hurt where fire button heroes rise
and fall. Moths round the money flame, robot flesh enslaved
to Modern Mythmakers wise enough never to enter Dream Temple
Wastelands where their cannibal illusions mutate.
Thoughts of Death come easy in a world of deadly illusion
or wimpish fathead wallet bulging self satisfied glass tower
TV sitcom punch line robot rattling his electric cage
to canned laughter, while petty princesses paw muscle heads
mouthing political puppeteer words in endless episodic epics
frying brains in Logie sauce while dole cheque robot sacrifices
stain the carpet before The Eye of God as the Ever Loud Voice
calls for more and bigger offerings of newborns ripe
to plunder for their innocence.
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