Panacea ReduxI have a panacea For the snake-skinned fork-tongued High-nosed corporate-administrative Bastards of the world. I have a panacea To heal the broken hearts of the con kings, Hustlers, swingers, smugglers, Liars, cheaters, crude wife beaters, Candy-takers, cherry-poppers And auto bass bumpers that populate And annotate our altercating nation.Panacea Redux
They invent a new reality. Rose petals wilt across the door to a lesser tragedy. My satiation crumbles, Multiply the crumbs to build a nation Crucify my love to keep my day job ensured I testify the making
Drugs.How disconnected do I have to be To let this mean absolutely nothing? Slow and gentle's not my way And you know I can never stay But I care for you I've always cared for youDrugs.
I don't understand what you are risking So I will hold my pride and step aside You'll find your sanity's girl And I'll find the world
Thank you for taking my heart out of the cold and melting it I put it right back in 'cause I didn't want you to get burnt Was it too late when in the fire I recalled all of its potential I cried but suddenly the world got beautiful
How c
Angel of DeathDigging through these pages with fingers like shovels, cold and steel and unable to feel relatively anything anymore sifting through this grainy soul a patchwork of celestial dirt that buried the hurt and heart in the same plot of time as sharp thoughts and memories cut at intertwined arteries to break open this locked and rotting memory box so surprised to find that you're still there i never did let go, i never did see behind the veil that covered the white walls washed in innocence where you sipped concoctions, medicinal cocktails where you waited impatiently for deathAngel of Death
Infection.I hate touching my skin, It’s a reminder that no one else will. I may seem to have composure, But inside it really kills.Infection.
I wish I had the courage, To scar all of my skin. Then I’d have a good reason, To hate my reflection again.
So many times I’ve tried, To change all of these traits. But each attempt is telling me, That it’s already too late.
So many things I hate, Discovered through self-examination, While no one wants to touch me, For fear of contamination.
So can it be I have a disease, Pas
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Burn Your Flags
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