Hung Up On the Fridge

July 2, 2010

Bored with every second hoping something changes
and dreaming so big that it doesn’t fit in.
The ringing in your ears is always your fault
that shouting that you hear can all be drowned out.

So people cut it out, cut it off and destroy it
hoping all along what they kill is you, but
stomping on your heart like nothing really matters
and pulling out your hair you decide you’ve had it:

People tell you to save ’til you think you’ve earned it
keep your torments in ’til you feel you deserve them
don’t waste a second being someone who is worthless
if do your damn job then someone will reward it.

What ever happend to those pictures you painted
and hung up on the fridge just because you made them?

Well, there’s nothing like a mountain standing in your way
to make you feel small enough to appreciate
every single second that you aren’t in the plains
and all those wooden bridges that you left in flames.

Here’s another sad story, another broken heart
another tragic ending right from the start:
You never learned a thing while you were in school
you always acted out lashing out at the rules.

But there in is a lesson that you’ve yet to learn:
There will always be something important on a page you’ve yet to turn.
And some soggy sunday will be your last
Did you die in your sleep? Or just stop existing.

You can hope it doesn’t happen you can hope you’re good
enough to fix the problems you have hidden in your blood,
but no one is immortal, no one will survive
the ending is eternal, but so are all the lies.

We Are Builders

February 16, 2009

We are builders and breakers,
with a gift for creation
and the liberty to destroy.
Our monoliths of stone
have gotten complex, and turned to steel.
Our will — our entitlement complex —
pushes us ever on and on
taking and taking
filling our wood and plaster  caves
with new belongings, our spoils of battle,
to replace the old
as new memorials to this current war
replace the dusty reminders of the last.
These new trees build our new homes
and these new stones bury our old bones.