Em Runnin Boots

Its happenin all around us, babe
All around us, yeah
Wonder if em boots are too old to stay
Hang up my runnin boots what you say

Ooooh Hang em up
(and) sling them on the ol boat rail
with the sail
with the sail

the tattered ol sail
the cored out boots
the scratched out records
the familiar road

oooh hang em up
(and) sling them on the ol boat rail
with the sail
with the sail

all around me mileage is tense
speed is fallow
in the suburbs of sense
embittered and sallow

And its all in the suburbs......yeah....

there or thereabouts......yeah

So lets just hang em up.... babe

Slow it down....yeah

the nation of two .....yeah 

Music: Godsmack: Bad Religion

Lastly Alive

A simple ode or a malodorous brood
An attempt at rhyme or a musical jibe
Definitions or eruditions
Nope, nothing works

Transmogrified by your filth
Mirrored by your chaos
Belted in by the indifference
And oh the noise finally silencing mine

Its always been you, always

Even when it wasn't

And even when I said I will leave

Its just you and me

Yes, we are one, you and me

Music: Another way to die : Disturbed

"A man must consider what a rich realm he abdicates when he becomes a conformist." Emerson

Or is it inevitable?

Logic, certainty and conclusions, all concepts of touching naivete? 

And is individuality only the product of cosmetic airbrushing? 

Pregnant with thought, rich with reason and throbbing with emotion, just a fantasy of youth?

What of belief, is it just all a moment in time?

Is it because mindless sensuality was followed to its logical end? 

Or was it because its always the slave who considers himself freer than the free?

Why are broken angsts the refuse that litter the surface of what in other times used to be a fecund mind.

And when did inevitable become an acceptable concept?

When did accept become part of the lexicon?

Music 21 Guns: Green Day

 

Now...

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time

I have been half in love with easeful Death,

Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,

To take into the air my quiet breath;

Now more than ever seems it rich to die,

To cease upon the midnight with no pain,

While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad

In such an ecstasy!