I practice dying every night
Tip-toeing, juking rays of light
Cast by the family, media
The antique scent of modern law
I danced with monkeys, drank the punch
Free doughnut powder lined the lungs
for cameras surveilling from above,
whose tapes were empty all along
Who's watching if the
W-I-Z-A-R-D sees nothing through green satin
can't do much to get you home; he's just a man
Can't someone call the kids in
Nix the warning, rip the Band-Aid off;
Break the glass off the pocket watch and
Turn the hands back to when I was fed these thoughts?
That spoon ain't a fucking fighter jet
And I'm not alone, the web gets weaker every day
Chewing chips, pursed lips sips
Elder choir cracking hips
I'm not alone, us flies devise our getaways
Kiss those feet, trust those kings
Kiss those snakes, trust those fangs
Science will club you in the night
You'll see stars twinkle ancient light;
Hit pause on shopping, movies, sports and
finally question your importance in a B-L-I-Z-Z-A-R-D
Falling short of warm log wood cabins as color is slowly sapped out of your hands
Can't someone call the kid in
Nix the warning, rip the Band-Aid off;
Break the glass off the pocket watch and
Turn the hands back to when I was fed these thoughts?
If I could have I'd have shot it down
It's pretty odd to think it's twenty-one to drink, eighteen to smoke
Yet I was fed hallucinogens in cinnamon skim milk whirlpools since I was born
I'd shoot arrows, go where they landed
paint rings around them and call myself a marksman
I used to feel shame, but that was before
Hesitant of change, but not anymore
Stories would vilify death, but now that I'm sure
Neutral's not negative
Burn my blanket of judgment
Self-prescribed bliss remission fix
Just tuck me in nothingness
"Fate" has swallowed me whole
Now I just want to be a real boy and escape from the whale
I've had this reoccurring daydream since my acned, throwaway teens
Where my back's towards downtown Rio, climbing up the famed Redeemer
with no gear but blocks of C4, special meter glow and skateboard
at the ready when I reach the top and feel the scripted wind blowing’
The fuse snap, crackle, pops; drop in down his locks
Gunning headlong down the forearm, stifling the wobble of trucks
Shoot off his index, catch the deck, clench it tight in my right hand
Hear demolition, limbs extended, executing my flight plan
And land with elbows on the dinner table, Turkey Day muted cable
in the background, saying thanks to idols, when who all I really want to thank is Doug for this stuffing; because it's so tasty