Winds are coming soon and nothing that we can do
Batten down the hatches
It's time to let the monsters run free
It's as if all those memories and angst ridden cries are swirling down the drain
With the blood
From when I cut myself shaving
You and me, it's been a while
Course it's for the same anyhow
We're all around when you're gone
Playing in the walls
Digging in the skin
Don't know what we realize
Bright and alive like a mescaline sunrise
Twisted on dreams
That used to be free
Now they cost money
I'm afraid you just don't see
It's time for you to be
And me
Oh I'd never though it'd come to this
Not quite the same with the daybreak fits
Calling it quits over stupid shit
That's how it always goes
Isn't it?
Couldn't face you if I couldn't face myself
Live
on
T.V.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Dreams
It had been a few days, I suppose. It's not always the same locale you see. It's not even the same team. I work with amateurs because very few of us ever make it back. This would be the third run.
We walk along fault lines, taking note of the vegetation. Sometimes, it stops and shrivels up within seconds. When you see that writhing mass of dull jade, you pull away. It always means trouble.
Least, that's how I remember it. I only get flashes now. They said that would happen.
And we keep moving, always moving. I don't even ask why, I figure if every day...is exactly the same, what's the fault in going along with the plan. It's not like one can twist fate. It's not like that at all.
Coming up, a distance away...maybe fourty yards...there's what we want and I see them now. Crawling along the rocks, sliming and oozing down to their nectar...
We slow down and begin to ask what we're even doing. It's always the same.
Motion springs into effect and each takes a leap of faith
Slipstream time launch and we're back home
Now with another into the chute
Launching into it's pod, separated from it's home
Bodies lay on the floor, with what's needed being returned.
Again, that old singular time, winds down and another run is done.
We try.
We try very hard.
We walk along fault lines, taking note of the vegetation. Sometimes, it stops and shrivels up within seconds. When you see that writhing mass of dull jade, you pull away. It always means trouble.
Least, that's how I remember it. I only get flashes now. They said that would happen.
And we keep moving, always moving. I don't even ask why, I figure if every day...is exactly the same, what's the fault in going along with the plan. It's not like one can twist fate. It's not like that at all.
Coming up, a distance away...maybe fourty yards...there's what we want and I see them now. Crawling along the rocks, sliming and oozing down to their nectar...
We slow down and begin to ask what we're even doing. It's always the same.
Motion springs into effect and each takes a leap of faith
Slipstream time launch and we're back home
Now with another into the chute
Launching into it's pod, separated from it's home
Bodies lay on the floor, with what's needed being returned.
Again, that old singular time, winds down and another run is done.
We try.
We try very hard.
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