After Dark

You have been here before. In the shadows.
There’s a monk in the corner he’s singing syllables to language professors. A three storie tall tuxedo’s playing music backwards to retards, snails on the horny pill drawing fluorescent lines in the grass

Every tree dancing ancient footsteps touching roots

I feel you over there, can you hear me? Im up in the ssycamore tree

Beatboxing pigeons and foxes high on leftovers from the wrong tenants rave in the pond as chicks on speed pedals endlessly cycle the Marble Arch

Can you hear that drippity drop? Its for you. Calling. For your loss of control. You are walking now. On thin air. No need for reassurance here. Its After Dark and the city is alive with fire from street lights and over exposed traffic

Freedom fighters hide in the dark. Inspiration is having a jog and you can no longer smell the smog

School girls have left their confinement and burn panties and bras in that shining white pile on the meadows, brats their long lost ambition
and Im here cause I need to tatoo someone’s ass with: “The invicibility of punk”

The hits that’s been on the radio like you’ve heard a million times before
are randomly interjecting the silence, somewhere in the distance

You’re not wanted to serve another cup at Starbuck

I can see a storm cloud coming, the insult of another day is at hand.
But Im not to worried never am. I am not a worried man

I am a Sky God and this, baby, is our time.

This is Not a Kodak Moment

Its our mission to fight for our daydreams
Its yours, apparently to intervene
Finally, in only seven day's time
the entirety of the old world is unmade
and on the last evening
the lights of all the cities
blink out one by one

The great explorer is dying
and half his stories are untold
The future wind is blowing
and all the lies will come unfold

As

This is not a Kodak moment
We are refugees from the truth
No time spent on brushing up the picture
No life spent in full

One girl dies in another girls arms
The high heeled lady has lost her charms
Pearl lined necklace drop stone by stone
New pearls will form in our new home

Flying is wasted on the jaded
Youth wasted on the young
Reality locks you all in cages
The Key maker hides under another song

As

This is not a Kodak moment
We are refugees from the truth
No time spent on brushing up the picture
No life spent in full

Older men whisper in youthful ears
Transmission disturbed by anxious fears
Raving in no direction generations waste
Rituals to gateways bined like yesterdays junk
They congregate the power and you dazed in skunk

I got hippies in the attic
punks down below
No place to shower
the hunger of the howl
The basement is banging
as the roof top flips of
Im left with no place hiding
And nothing now will ever be enough

As

This is not a Kodak moment
We are refugees from the truth
No time spent on brushing up the picture
No life spent in full

Holler

I saw the best wars of my generation fought with out a reason
I saw the children of the holocaust genozide I saw the children of the iron lady cast in iron on desert fields fightin insurgents of their own land, I saw sucide bombers picking up the stick although they could hardly walk I saw limbs burning like ashes with a million faces in the sand and tongues ripped out from the chord still singing the words: “hallluhja” like there were no tomorrow and the cold of their tongues dripping like moist to the clay of a new tomorrow, hitting goliath were it hurts, I saw him getting hurt and whining like a bitch ignoring the million faces he stepped on to get there, I saw the twin towers he erected with money from the men tearing them down, I see the confusion, massillusion, phornographic insults of ingorance rising like tide, I see sell outs fucked from behind, hackneychildren screamin: “we are all jihad” as chaves throw riot fences at the pigs I see desert sands blowing in the wrong direction, I see prisoners of war in orange suits stripping down the leafs of dignity of the opressor, and all along rulers are holding generations in dark room lock down as we fight another war for no reason, board rooms with blind men getting rich either way the chips fall, I see journalists who lost control of the remote control controling them, I see beggars, school kids, schollars, priests, dancing to the sound of the pyied piper silently shouting for the long lost child to name the emperor’s new clothes, I see generals in uniforms laboured on the back of the unpaid, and that’s another war not fought for no reason, I see slavery reinstated by the former slaves of the svastika I see him laughing in the grave, I see women crying over dumb sons, mother’s lying for false men, I see it repeat again, pigeons fly like crazed crack heads against the window in chase of chastity, generations of fighters, rebels, revolutionaries in drug induced stupidity dancing to the prerecorded sounds of massinduced sleep letting them get away with murder, I see the children of the holocasut gasing the children of the gaza strip I see the children of arabs blowing them selfs up in discoteques I see the children of the promised land voting for the wrong president again, and again and again and, as the smoke clears, I see me, me, doing absolutely, absoultely nothing at all.