Stumbling through suburbs lathered in the
warm red light that begins the day
and burns my eyes open to fresh horrors
in
the catacombs of slow middle class death
embalmed in 9 to 5, dinner parties and red wine
Flash cars but an extension of fossilised egos
jumped on and vandalised by equally doomed offspring
I'm retracing my steps and all that I want
is to find an exit and escape the watchful eyes
but
Memories of dusk still raise a wry smile
kissing the stars with gleaming lips
dry throats and half-shut eyes in smoke
We
sat around with our ladder to the heavens
being rolled up in Rizla with precision and care
philosophy soon dripping from loosened tongues
a meeting of like minds;a sharing of dreams
held by
we, the people who live outside the law
to the best of our abilities
we who have learned to renege on our contract
with the bloated and blackened society around us
that
condemns,breaks and reshapes it's
deviant and different sons and daughters
as we
struggle endlessly to keep culture alive
generation after generation after generation
surviving unheralded on the thin margins
of the strictly mass-produced lined paper society
but
we know the right words at the right time
can make the lines slide and run till
tradition twists away and apart from it's makers
letting the long damned waters of freedom free
where we're all picked up by the tides of hope
but the rocks of reality are no longer there
to break our perfect minds and bodies
and
we continue to speak the night away
discussing thoughts and hopes all
beyond just success and money and all that
but of being judged for who we actually are
by the one true marker of all humanity
behind his legendary gates of pearl splendour
but then the talk slides to lesser things
and matters of a more mundane nature
meaning
education,knowledge and the thought of beauty
delusions all,of course, but necessary lies
not that you can mention that to anyone these days
Don't end their dreams;don't attract attention or
you'll find
expulsion from the cultivated groves of learning by rote
where the dying fools waste the time of the young hopefuls
by filling beautifully clear minds with only the dead weight
junk of tradition and facts,as if anything can be proved
yet some see through this scheme and shelter themselves
with
experiences alternative and thoughts unique
to be more than just men and women: to be people
To be people, and nothing else: that is our hope
but
that is dreaming and it's not how it is
when we awake into nightmarish circumstance
the garishly surreal terror of real life
where we all have shellac minds to break
we see and we gawk and we take bad pictures
of
a life spent uselessly preparing
for once we're used up and old
after a lifetime spent toiling to spend
that either doesn't live up to the hype
or just doesn't happen at all for you
and all you have at the end are some
memories
whether they be of lost lovers or empty bottles
responsibilities,regrets,it's all the same
They ruin the possibilities afforded to us
in the one long lifetime we get that
we could all enjoy instead of endure
sweet hope stays with us always
But, as I was at the beginning
I am trapped in a social prison
searching to be away from the watchers
those for whom hope is already gone
I hope I can make it home
I hope I can remember what I've learned
I hope to do what is right
I hope to do it for myself
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