Perfume; Story of a Murderer

From the director of "Run! Lola. Run!"

Robbie Williams

Dues Ex Machina

The God of the machine waits in the essence of the day, waiting for a special new way. It stands all so tall, blocking out the sun to make way for the acid rain fires. It's open stock of seemingly useless propaganda, and with a pop-up and a flash, the night makes it's own way through the gates. The empty walkways, the closed off streets, It must be a sign of the things to come. Brimmed hats can hide your face, and suttle remarks can conceal your fate, but only to us, for it is the god. Sinners and pures will be judged all the same, till the day becomes new the innocent shalt rest. The human faults and cracks show a light of error that shall strike us from our jeweled thrones. The crys will carry from town to village. It is earthly nature to not sit still. We can run and we can hide, but not from it-not from what we create. From New Jersey to Kuwait and all the way to the Bering Strait, it will show us truth-and on it's own make a new.

(Something I wrote over 2 and 1/2 years ago. I published it on another blog of mine called "Latemourningj")

Love me, Or hate me.

I don't know if I am sorry for this. I see rainbow children in my right eye. I dipondent smile, and echos of light- my hope is carried on the plane across this sky. I know I was wrong, but I can't see caring anymore!

Whats a bullet now and again?

My way to be, the hate around that ball or yarn, the cats play with haunting reminders. My home is in my head; a dome that rest upon my neck! The led enters my back, with zip-zoom, the tunnel is all I see! I flip my eggs, as if my brain were in that skillet; watch the yolk of me run down through the towels. Anti-everyone is the way I choose to be, a mental execution! My fear is what bounds me, leaves me crazy looking to the sky- I choose to die with clouds, and stars. Hearts unsettled, with angry faces we all sip our drink- tilt that glass to the roof. I fight one on one without pawns, and gods; it just ends it all quicker!

STRESSED OUT!

CROMARTIE HIGH

Exits, not round-abouts

At the lightest of day break I see things grow on my couch, and as those worms wiggle around my head, I bake the lakers fans with a kicking bass line. This shit is a bit tempting but I can't be convinced while your licking your own asshole. Pick the dole bannana, then eat it whole, or take this cleaver and go to work. My thoughts need composure to break this hollow musical inspiration.

STRESSED OUT
I Say it but it's just not enough.

Spread Polysics Across the Globe

They take defeat when no one spreads their majesty. We must all work together as a whole to aid this insane band.

For the history of rock, no one hase brought it this hard, no one has given an audience member a heart attack half way into their set, until the POLYSICS showed themselves.

Oh yes my friend; comrade Banks is back!

A vain preacher on fifth street convinces me to play the blues on my frail blood vein mandolin. So I play away, away from the angery masses, making life form a new meaning. This mess of men turn into bitter body building. A cold Case file has been placed on you secratries desk, and with a swift wink he walks away with wavy facial hair.
-This leaves me at a boggled stance.
(Time for more inspiration)
Evil as day old milk, yet plain as waffle house pancakes. I am born again, but I was born to the weakest farmers family known to this region. Lies make the day pass with a firm grimace. My promises have cut me in half, and now no one can love this limbless freak- an offense to god almighty. My birth still forthcoming.
-A masterpiece consisting of my jumbled mind
(Time for more inspiration)
Baked. Is the cook who plans more than he cooks. I have this attention matched with agnoy that I placed in your body. I am sleep, I am pain, I am the lashing from a whip that breaks your back side flesh. I bend, I contort, I cure the meak, and sleak. A flash can't kill me, lightning won't strike me. Thats right no one has the testicular fortitude to take me and shove my head deep to the truth, and then bash my skull until I sing "Kaja Kaja Goo".
-I cried when you died, father do you see my newest daily life?
(Inspiration is just a waste of time)
I despise Build-A-Bear. Any warfare? Any rouges want battle? Find me, and together I shall quit this job; though without you all as my support I break like a small girl trapped underneath a hardplace, and one huge fucking rock. Calm is my precaution. Whats your daily lie? Perhaps you choose Brandy tonight; oh what a fight, I believe it to be grand, and instantly I shot the man in the corner. We all have time to dine with the freshly dead.

STRESSED OUT.