Dangers.

You sang to me that "you are free," the "music is boring you to death." But for me, you see, it's just the goddamn kids. Us boring, boring, boring, boring, spoiled-rotten kids. Take. Take, take, take. Don't give back shit. All spoils. All gains. Just dicks. No brains. More pills. Less pain. Just amber waves of grain. We stuff our mouths until we burst. This is consumerism at its very worst.
Our hands stuffed so deep into the cookie jar. And no, we will not share. We all have too much. We haven't one desire. Us boring, boring self-righteous kids. Throw us to the fire. New sneakers, smaller cell phones, faster cars with larger rims. We filthy, stinking, scholarship punks. We watch them struggle for what we're
just given. I have nothing to complain about, but I know I'll still complain. I'm so bored with us have-everything kids. Put a razor to our veins.


Dangers, man. Dangers. So witty, so refined.




(an old one.)
Moving on.





Here's to looking misty in the January morning lack of sun.
Here's a thousand different reasons why tomorrow won't be any fun.
Because the area of quality's so goddamned fucking small.
A life composed of seeming meaningless,
dress undress, caress, redress.

Two trains have gone behind me.
Haven't turned around for one.
It's only been ten minutes,
window's blocking out the lack of sun.

It's not unordinary, It's 8:51 p.m.
Privately staring, sneaking glances at the man
who sits across the room from my eyes
Maybe I think you left me.

finish block upon block of building
to have your little brother push them all to ground
Ages, ages ages lost
Me not thinking now is dangerous.








(don't read into this too much.)

and now:
ransport, motorways and tramlines
Starting and then stopping
Taking off and landing
The emptiest of feelings
Disappointed people clinging on to bottles
And when it comes it's so so disappointing.