Dry Heave

Oh the color is a purple/light-green; and the night before was alright, but how could the morning become so bland. It's that type of day when nothing goes right, like red kool-aid on my favorite white t-shirt.

Fuck is the only word for this kinda day!

Stressed Out

Sage Francis

Dead poet.

What is this?

Fresh is what I can't be, there must be something more for me; for us. Letting go is a way to live, being slaved away is no future( or present) for me; for us. Joking the months right out my mind, still swearing I'm blind just so I don't have to open my eyes. Is this the climax or the encore? Why can't I escape from these barbed wire fences? Truth is the Lynch mob is out to get you; fooled by a parlor trick.

Stressed Out
Stressing these days by.

New Atmosphere song

Give some motherfucking props.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RvY38j7JdCk

Grendal is in it all for the kill.

Come on now just sit, relax think of none of this jazz, praise be the the god's in heaven, raise the weak for one last battle; A coming of times we all seem wrapped in- we both nod, we are both helpless.

Spooky Theme to Live By

I sense a ghost, at my family's roast, this being seems to coast around stealing all my damned toast; you see I don't mean to boast, but that foolish sprite just might ruin our party tonight. With my hosting skills losing and my brain going boozy; I guess Lucy will have to cook on Tuesday- or maybe this is April fools day. Still I'm afraid to say we just may be living in a house made of clay and lumps of hay; from this fact I shall not stray but here the truth remains a constant yellow stain, a mark left by a mangy fellow. That man walks the property at sunset but can not talk about living in poverty on his monthly salary; so I shall banish thee, with no argument or plea, you see to me you are nothing more than an annoying flea- be gone kind sir leave me in peace. Released from work he quickly turned into a rather large jerk, though everyone has their perk but this hound I swear to ya' has no funny quirk; not only that but a fool he was where he needed a spoon he insisted on a fork. Can you feel it in the wind? The sins haunt those thin gusts, they carry human dust along with our decaying rust; oh yes! What a must, but please don't make such a fuss. Whether this inspires or impairs, I hope it can aid you fire up your engine and pay that bridge fare; although when it comes down to it I couldn't really care.

Stressed Out
(A little bit of Speed Fingre came out right there)

From the Pinky Violence Collection

Never thought sex and violence would combine so well!
I give this film two thumbs and two big toes up!

Sex for you?

In a nutshell I shriek under a glistening moon; those breath-taking views herd my inner being. With heckling applause the actors take their hallowed bows; but they sit with pungent vows- indeed speaking out of both ends. Simply words that bring my pieces together, one direct blast to my mainframe and the nerve endings go haywire.

I can't take credit for view on life.
Stressed Out

Boy, you make my motor run!

Brother Ali

Station 4, Saint Paul. July 8 2007

Please can't you help me?!

This stereo on my fucking back bleeds from the sickness within, without warning my pushing fowards seems to change to me moving back, these miles in my head seem to count back, I seem to be moving back and I seem to be lacking what a human needs to go on, what could someone like you do to help? How could you watch me though falling down these steps, no aid to my bloody end, no letter in the mailbox coming to save my friends, they all seem to moving back.

Help me my friends!

Stressed Out

Can't hold emploment!

Is this my brain on fire?

Why does it feel like a hole when I lay down at night, for what reasons do I write my thoughts on parchment, and how can it free my soul? Late last night I came crashing into some place unknown, still I can't speak a lick of my own tongue. Slipping on ice can leave marks and scars, these everlasting memories burn me only to bleed for weeks. Please, oh please don't bite on me; your jaws capture everything in this area, but no words of apology breach your lips- what fucked up wishes does your mouth echo for me? Save the best for last, save your lust for the fans outside this box, because my heart can only handle seeing one failing glimpse.

The truth is in the words we exchange.

Stressed Out
(Never knew me by Jay)