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Smoking Jesus
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The Real Folk Blues
It's 1998 and, I filter truth through gun smoke traveling down a road centuries gone while listening to the ballad of a fallen angel and I wait for the kiss from a dying rose to greet me as I walk along to the only thing I know to the only place I still go, to the music of dead memories.
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I
I went to a cemetery
I went to a cemetery to search for love The polished stones Stared back at me As I  walked, Alone, From tomb to tomb, Name to name, Ghost to ghost, Listening... To their heartbeat, To the silence Of the dry, dark, Autumn night, Passing by. Stopped, Near a fallen Oak tree, I asked, The cold brisk wind To merry me.
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Just because
Just because it's not real, doesn't mean I can't pretend The pine trees have fallen silent As the owls stand against the night The leaves harden to a crunch Their blood drains away to dirt Paths hide from us, cloak themselves Dreams frighten, scatter upon approach The silver eye dances in somber silence As tidings of friendship crash and burn The stern cliff tightens in the afterglow Its grey face turns to stone, to solitude We are bound to ethereal memories Eternity veils its visage in shame Imagination stalks my childhood As fading thoughts realign the stars The mellow mastery of time, of sadness Washes into pockets of my ea
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Vein
Where's your messiah? Blood halved into truth And split into divinity The way a face crinkles, Shallow pools, and... Nameless wonders Breath stuck upon the shade Of new born stars Like eyes too clean to dream And windows too slow to cry Have what you will... Even your fear But give me none of this... Or all but your tasteless minds Cloaks draped in sleeping blood Trenches whirled in glorious festoons Balloons brighter than reality When things just make you cry, You don't start to realize Or even imagine what you thought Truth might have been Or what the past makes you be You tilt your head Watch the drifting sky And kn
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The World
the world doesn't work the way you think the world doesn't work the way it should it doesn't go from here to there it doesn't like being naked or bare it doesn't hoot and howler it doesn't like to be bothered it doesn't let children play in the woods it doesn't like its childhood it doesn't go for long walks on the beach it doesn't want to hear your speech it doesn't like thursdays it doesn't care if you are gay it doesn't like tacos, pizza, or guacamole it doesn't like the Nintendo Wii it doesn't sing in the shower it doesn't serenade autumn flowers it doesn't know when it shall die it doesn't like homemade apple pie it doe
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Glory Days
i have these things, these pieces, these memories; they stain my reality like children pissing their names into a fresh snow, like carnivals that whisper to me at night, like a drunken ghost sleeping and crying quietly next to me; days fade away, rushing towards nothing; the past lingers, harbors hope that one day, someday, it and I shall be reunited like the glory days of old.
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Wittgenstein
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Smoking Jesus
0
0
T
The Real Folk Blues
It's 1998 and, I filter truth through gun smoke traveling down a road centuries gone while listening to the ballad of a fallen angel and I wait for the kiss from a dying rose to greet me as I walk along to the only thing I know to the only place I still go, to the music of dead memories.
0
0
I
I went to a cemetery
I went to a cemetery to search for love The polished stones Stared back at me As I  walked, Alone, From tomb to tomb, Name to name, Ghost to ghost, Listening... To their heartbeat, To the silence Of the dry, dark, Autumn night, Passing by. Stopped, Near a fallen Oak tree, I asked, The cold brisk wind To merry me.
1
0
J
Just because
Just because it's not real, doesn't mean I can't pretend The pine trees have fallen silent As the owls stand against the night The leaves harden to a crunch Their blood drains away to dirt Paths hide from us, cloak themselves Dreams frighten, scatter upon approach The silver eye dances in somber silence As tidings of friendship crash and burn The stern cliff tightens in the afterglow Its grey face turns to stone, to solitude We are bound to ethereal memories Eternity veils its visage in shame Imagination stalks my childhood As fading thoughts realign the stars The mellow mastery of time, of sadness Washes into pockets of my ea
0
1
V
Vein
Where's your messiah? Blood halved into truth And split into divinity The way a face crinkles, Shallow pools, and... Nameless wonders Breath stuck upon the shade Of new born stars Like eyes too clean to dream And windows too slow to cry Have what you will... Even your fear But give me none of this... Or all but your tasteless minds Cloaks draped in sleeping blood Trenches whirled in glorious festoons Balloons brighter than reality When things just make you cry, You don't start to realize Or even imagine what you thought Truth might have been Or what the past makes you be You tilt your head Watch the drifting sky And kn
1
0
T
The World
the world doesn't work the way you think the world doesn't work the way it should it doesn't go from here to there it doesn't like being naked or bare it doesn't hoot and howler it doesn't like to be bothered it doesn't let children play in the woods it doesn't like its childhood it doesn't go for long walks on the beach it doesn't want to hear your speech it doesn't like thursdays it doesn't care if you are gay it doesn't like tacos, pizza, or guacamole it doesn't like the Nintendo Wii it doesn't sing in the shower it doesn't serenade autumn flowers it doesn't know when it shall die it doesn't like homemade apple pie it doe
0
1
G
Glory Days
i have these things, these pieces, these memories; they stain my reality like children pissing their names into a fresh snow, like carnivals that whisper to me at night, like a drunken ghost sleeping and crying quietly next to me; days fade away, rushing towards nothing; the past lingers, harbors hope that one day, someday, it and I shall be reunited like the glory days of old.
1
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Wittgenstein
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