Free Range Prisoners.

Every persons a patient.
Choke, choke, choke, till the croak.
Cadaver clean-up aisle Four:
Cosmetics, meds, no cures.
This is your life,
Ending one cell a time.

EST by CRT.
How free range is a sheep?
A hypodermic syringe,
An alcohol-free binge.
"Trapped" ain't the right word,
But it's first to mind.

These pretty prison palaces,
Furnished like old folks homes,
With zombies talking in tongues,
Everyday a re-run.
Living my life,
On the Broca Divide.

Surrender sin salvation.
Give your mind, receive sanity.
Open eyes never awake,
Wash cold sweat from your face.
Another morning,
Again, It's baptism time...

Dusk Is Dawn.

Behind the house, our neighbourhood star falls,
Fusion powered fusion, linking us all,
A fall to rise, to burn, tomorrow once more.
the dusk for you is another man's dawn.

I Travel In A Single Line.

I travel in a single line, and drift like light that shifts through time, whilst casting shade on what's behind, and keeping what's in front in mind, and it never stops never sleeps, as a pause alone is for the weak, and like a wolf dressed as a sheep, a boy who's tears are his peak, as joy is pain just unrefined, and to calm the storm is just a sign, I travel in a single line...
Until I lose what I can't re-find.

... "Forwards ever, Backwards never."

Too Many Sounds.

Too many sounds,
Too little to hear.
Happiness a 3 part disharmony.
My road will be the low,
stepping slowly in soft tones.

Too many sounds,
Too thoughtful to hear.
The World is static buzzing about me.
My spectrum will be known,
a life lived in baritone.

Too many sounds,
Too fickle to hear.
Raging against human homogony.
My intention is to clone,
reap myself from what I've sown.

Too many sounds,
Too brittle to hear.
Competing as the crucial contrary.
My heart and soul laid out prone,
unlike any you've ever known.

So many sounds,
too fickle to hear.
Can I get a little quiet please?