"special & the baby factories"
they just talk about what they don't know
hypocritical mass of confusion
"where is my antidote?"
a simple release of chemicals that
I can neither stand nor bear.
watch not consume the easy chair
and die with great idea & insight.
underneath head hair.
don't be scared.
this is just a temporary fixation
for an internal gestation
of a COMPLICATED situation
designed to detroy the nation
...of murderous, fearful, hung-up theives.
so... it's a little easier than running
even though it's not really that funny
pissing away all my money on hiding ghosts
and bullshit illusary toasts'
it's a little easier in a closet
sick & dried
words just help to wipe
the dirt out of my eyes
and with another line
another surprise
focused on the rhythm
and hunting vicious spies
no. no. we can't go in there
and far (have you noticed?)
too easily do we scare
i don't care
it's a little south of the truth
this ride inside / outside
so we could just watch a movie together & fuck the night away.
so what could we do togeter
that we haven't done apart
it's so easily hidden
in the center of your heart
and lines from wide & wicked
and words they pass the time
but victory life-less-ness
and it doesn't cost a dime
to let go solid and stay free enough to move
it's a history of adventure
that causes us to groove
and i'd rather be mad& lonely
if thats the cost to see shit new
i've sure tried on many colour's
the best fitting, as of yet, is blue
here & there has lost it's rhythm
I'm just sick of all this jissom
and blowing out candle's for fun
is a bore
i can't read or write too wel
it's a temporary state of union
a hyprocritical experience
a new move, for an old boy
and down to (and through) cities
of fat factory wives
with more debt than sense
and baby factories
who shoot for a greatest hits record by the age of 42
i'll go overseas to fuck young, tight, firm ass and titties.
bored of loose country and american inner cities
dropped light down a manhole
fish for an excuse
bait it with tomorrow
as words fly all off page
fortunately, we've all washed down by gulps of guilt
double edged swords massage mouth with hilt
until all crooked cards are dealt
so i'll breathe once more
bored of boredom
sick of creating history
tired of watering down mystery
and too fucking horny to even see right
so what do i do?
I'll drift away
with 2 different shoes
and lace them with blues
it's different in spaces
with time-release faces
and words that spill like milk
and make more dollars than sense
so what could we do
to list a degree of uselessness
it's in here forever
and your thought to be so clever
but the back door has been paved
and the/your outside is now saved
.....to the grave.....
(c) Jason Woolery - 10-12-2006
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