I turn the page
Leave last night's thoughts to run away
Let the corners of my minds fray
I'm at a loss for words
Just trying to stand still while the world turns
While facts & figures
Turn into masts of rigor
I'm swatting at the ringing in my ear
I've learned statics nothing to fear
Embracing my jack-knife immobilization
Putting myself up for saintly canonization
screw the break beat, old top, one stop degenerate
My hooves & horns proclaim I'm Pagan sent
I am paralyzed by my inability for forward momentum
Caught myself a pack of lies- Could only afford to rent them
All this modern generational placidity
Serves to create a liquidity of brevity
Bravado sweeps the silence off open caskets
I don't play tennis, but I'm still running all these rackets
So stop, pop the top on a crisp beat drop
Or hand me that hammer while i chisel the lock
Just cause I often speak, doesn't mean I speak well
Got the vocal constitution of a child's Speak n' Spell
I'll try to tie up the loose ends
And tighten the loose bolts
While you play the Philly, I'll be the colt
(Copyright & All rights reserved 2010 by Bob Fiedler)
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