They Told UsThey Told Us:More Like This
They told us we weren't artists,
They said that we're just puttin' words on paper...
They told us we wouldn't make it,
Because language isn't unique...
Ta hell with them all I say,
Because I know tha truth they seek ta hide.
We're treated like third-rate artists.
Our hands can't create magical pictures,
We can't create comics ta make people laugh,
Or emotive portraits ta make em cry...
But what they don't see is tha title,
What they don't see is tha description,
They don't even see tha comments or replies!
They look only at themselves,
And at tha talent they seem ta proclaim.
It's like starin' at an old english aristocrat,
Ignorin' us simply because we're farmers.
But what they don't see are the words.
Words used ta give a picture context.
Withou' a title, a picture is just a mix of colours and lines.
Who could understand an image, withou' a title?
If art alone suffices, why not let every piece be nameless?
I'll tell ya the truth, separated from the
ASYLUMAsylum:More Like This
I scrape my hands upon the ground,
Staring at my cell.
I wonder why I'm trapped inside,
This vivid living hell.
I've heard the voices calling out,
Maybe they're in my head...
I wonder where my cell-mates are,
Maybe they are dead...
Time has no meaning in this place,
Nor does the word of day and night,
The food is simply human flesh,
It will give you quite a fright...
Upon a chair they strap me down,
They open my eyes and make me shiver,
They pull out a scalpel and many knives,
The sight alone, it makes me quiver.
They inject me with a strange chemical,
The world does fade to black.
I wake up in my cell again,
And hear the sound clink-clack!
Lo, they left the door unlocked,
Unhinged it's time for freedom.
Release me from this horrid prison,
It is a place devoid of reason!
Demons chase me in the halls,
A laughing chef with a chainsaw calls.
It splutters and thirsts for my blood of life,
But I'd rather die by the kitchen knife!
"I wonder if I ever said goodbye to my
Heavenly FireMore Like This
The sky, consumed by
a spectral conflagration;
embers glow briefly
before the night's rising tide
completely quenches the fire.