travel the disaster [there's always tomorrow]

when did this life become nothing but-
repititionrepitition-repetitive nonsense sold to the masses
packaged: and individually wrapped
take your pick and stand in line- wait for your tomorrow to die
and lie in the ashes of your broken life- as we all lie to the wind
face first- down in the sand and pray to be happy

when did 'there's always tomorrow'- move from
a promise. to a threat of what we could lose in the process
listening to the faucet drip-drip-drip. more repitition as the smoke dances
from a cigarette left in an ashtray. tipped to the side.
take a crack at life from another standpoint- and view the cracks
in my eyes. travel the disaster and tip-toe into oblivion

when did what we aspired to be- become what we're failed to repeat
repeatition- masked as defeat, and we're linked to ourselves
through arms of open hymns and battle scars
livid marks and backlit stars. we can name the planets in our favor
and watch the world crumble beneath us- for it never mattered
no. nothing ever really matters. disaster is beautiful

--
raise your ficticious [glass]. half full of hope and drained of all simplicity
as we drink to the nights we died. don't you recall?

-the young boy that saw the pebble in a bed of rocks
as we watched in terror and disbelief, some call it shock- as he was shot
took a shot and stopped dead in his tracks. this young boy
his pebble he cast into the ocean and we all laughed, yes we laughed
for a bed of rocks is no place for individuality.

remove your mask of outdated fashion and listen to the butterflies sing
-their song marked by tragedy. and their wings ripped apart
pulsating hearts and little lonely darts- boys in blue jeans and momma singing Billy Jean
days like this make me cry as the butterflies die to the rhythm of the wind
and their wings are severed. we've tainted them.


draped in your melancholy absence. and I wonder if it hurt
to watch the planets collide in tune to a dying record player. it's been on repeat for days
and the world can only keep spinning for so long
--

do you dare to dream- or has nostalgia forced itself up on you-
scream to our shattered [yesterday]- maybe it'll come back. we can make it
because we're lost without reason- and we have no reason
without empathy. a sick cycle of always almost
quick now. drag me through your wasteland- maybe I won't make it out alive

beautiful animosity- [triggers] click much louder when you're expecting a flash
as we smile to the camera and hope our face doesn't fall apart-
watch the sky fade from blue to black- and piece together your puzzled past
and we sing a sweet- faded symphony
can anyone hear us-?
-////

quick now-
draw a line through your rings of logic- dream with me
and maybe we can listen once again
just listen
to the butterflies sing






-
posted for MR, because she rocks :-D