Broken Records & Scotch Tape

Everybody is just like them
Catagorized by the ideals of
hated fellows following the
steps of the same dance
Feet crushed in vain
Bones breaking in atempt to
follow the familiar beat
filtering out of those sold-
out rythms

Rythms emitting from the very
same stringed acoustics used
to hang our four fathers

Children pouting while the
adults have their fun
They too, move to the sound
waves obsorbing their
everything

So I got to thinking
If I were to kill one of
each of them. . .
Feed them to all the starving
kids in purgatory. . .
Then build a memorial with
their skeletal remains. . .
Maybe their predecessors
will evolve into a better
social governing party

Making sure that citizens
recieve the dance steps in
advance
By way of priority junk mail.