Lord of the flies
Lord of the night
Lord of darkness
Lord of light
Lord of light
Lord I believe you
Are the Lord of the flies
But I have not received you
I have not offered up my life
To the Lord of the flies
How still the ground beneath you holds
The secrets of the age
But will they still believe in you
When you lay them in their graves?
You hold the darkness like a mirror to your face
To show the Way
Lord of the flies
Are you coming tonight?
Lord of darkness
Will you leave me behind?
Leave me behind
Will you leave me behind
You're the Lord of the flies
"Runaways"
Throughout my life
A few things I have found
There are some who'll lift you up
There are some who'll drag you down
There are some who'll make you wonder
What you're still doing in this town
And they're never satisfied
Until they see you in the ground
And they're never satisfied with anything they see in mirrors
And they always wonder why they have to sleep alone
And they're never pacified, no matter what you give 'em
Just like runaways that are never going home
It's easy to sleep and hide
Hide under sheets all night
In Dreams you forget
What you've been shown in the Light
Crosses burning to the left
Hanging tree to the right
They're selling their souls
To the darkness
In the darkness of the night
And they're never satisfied with anything they see in mirrors
And they always wonder why they have to sleep alone
And they're never pacified, no matter what you give 'em
Just like runaways that are never going home
A few things I have found
There are some who'll lift you up
There are some who'll drag you down
There are some who'll make you wonder
What you're still doing in this town
And they're never satisfied
Until they see you in the ground
And they're never satisfied with anything they see in mirrors
And they always wonder why they have to sleep alone
And they're never pacified, no matter what you give 'em
Just like runaways that are never going home
It's easy to sleep and hide
Hide under sheets all night
In Dreams you forget
What you've been shown in the Light
Crosses burning to the left
Hanging tree to the right
They're selling their souls
To the darkness
In the darkness of the night
And they're never satisfied with anything they see in mirrors
And they always wonder why they have to sleep alone
And they're never pacified, no matter what you give 'em
Just like runaways that are never going home
"Midland Street West"
See the cars that are parked along Midland Street
Hear the sounds of laughter, music, conversation
Walk on by, never knowing the people
In the house on the corner
Where the lights stay on all night
If you walk along the sidewalks of your mind
You may find yourself on Midland Street West
Where the door to the house on the corner
Open to a friend
But don't look them in the eyes
And you dreamed you were a disciple of Christ
He was turnin' the water into wine
And you thought you could walk on the water
So you tried...
Wednesday nights on Midland Street West
Where the sacraments are weed and wine
And the sacrifice is fuel to feed the fire
That burns away the sadness
And reminds you of your dreams
And you dream of perfect circles
Figure eights on their sides
And a world without beginning or ending
Only night
On Midland Street West
Are you feeling the winds of war hard against your back?
Are you remembering how she said she would come back?
Are you waiting on the Second Coming?
Or do you wish you were still at Midland Street West?
Hear the sounds of laughter, music, conversation
Walk on by, never knowing the people
In the house on the corner
Where the lights stay on all night
If you walk along the sidewalks of your mind
You may find yourself on Midland Street West
Where the door to the house on the corner
Open to a friend
But don't look them in the eyes
And you dreamed you were a disciple of Christ
He was turnin' the water into wine
And you thought you could walk on the water
So you tried...
Wednesday nights on Midland Street West
Where the sacraments are weed and wine
And the sacrifice is fuel to feed the fire
That burns away the sadness
And reminds you of your dreams
And you dream of perfect circles
Figure eights on their sides
And a world without beginning or ending
Only night
On Midland Street West
Are you feeling the winds of war hard against your back?
Are you remembering how she said she would come back?
Are you waiting on the Second Coming?
Or do you wish you were still at Midland Street West?
Stooge's Logic
You never knew your stooges, did you?
Never paid your dues
Never brayed your lone wolf howl
Never even knew which moon to send it to
Sharp of razor not felt
As it cuts meat
Drawing no blood
You should have got to know them
Stooges have a lot to teach
When they wield the blade
To cut meat
The flesh is severed
And the lesson learned
You really should have listened to them
For now the time has come
When the blood becomes vital
The razor selfish, thirsty enough on it's own
All those little pithy ideas that run amok in your brainstormed heart
They do you no good
They cut no meat
The twinkling stars and light bulbs bursting in your imagination
As a new idea is born only to be cast into the furnace
Given up on, no chance
A dud
Third trimester abortion
Tapped it's head just as it poked it's way through the door
No need for another one
Defective products
It only wears you down
Sucking on the memory of the last one
That proved to be worth a shit
Born 25 years ago, already on it's death bed
But your's
Straight from your soul
Arranged on a plate with a charming garnish of parsley
Soul food from the ghetto
Where hungry mouths don't get fed
You'd think they would devour your gift
As their hunger burns
But rather to learn how to steal
But rather to learn how to fight
Than a single disgusting taste
Of anything you have to offer
From a mind
Soft and cushioned
Spoiled and molding
Too weak to ever understand what it means
To survive
Barely able to get by, this is what it's worth
All it's worth, and no more
Something you might have known
Had you learned something from stooges
How to cut meat
Never paid your dues
Never brayed your lone wolf howl
Never even knew which moon to send it to
Sharp of razor not felt
As it cuts meat
Drawing no blood
You should have got to know them
Stooges have a lot to teach
When they wield the blade
To cut meat
The flesh is severed
And the lesson learned
You really should have listened to them
For now the time has come
When the blood becomes vital
The razor selfish, thirsty enough on it's own
All those little pithy ideas that run amok in your brainstormed heart
They do you no good
They cut no meat
The twinkling stars and light bulbs bursting in your imagination
As a new idea is born only to be cast into the furnace
Given up on, no chance
A dud
Third trimester abortion
Tapped it's head just as it poked it's way through the door
No need for another one
Defective products
It only wears you down
Sucking on the memory of the last one
That proved to be worth a shit
Born 25 years ago, already on it's death bed
But your's
Straight from your soul
Arranged on a plate with a charming garnish of parsley
Soul food from the ghetto
Where hungry mouths don't get fed
You'd think they would devour your gift
As their hunger burns
But rather to learn how to steal
But rather to learn how to fight
Than a single disgusting taste
Of anything you have to offer
From a mind
Soft and cushioned
Spoiled and molding
Too weak to ever understand what it means
To survive
Barely able to get by, this is what it's worth
All it's worth, and no more
Something you might have known
Had you learned something from stooges
How to cut meat
Pen Scratches
My pen scratches toxic poison
Into a wide ruled canvas
A dart thrown by an unsteady hand
That misses the mark more often than not
27 light blue lines horizontal
One long pink perfect to the side
Flanked by three holes
The design like a bulls eye
The ink pricks the center
But thoughts don’t follow
Too long in the dark, maybe
Maybe too long in the truth
They render my pen impotent
And dam the inspiration that would give it life
These empty pages mock me
80 of them, each one
Taunting
Daring me to smear their perfect whiteness
They are content to remain as they are
Worthless
Good for nothing but the fire
A total waste of resources
They want to be a looking glass
And they crave the taste of poison
Into a wide ruled canvas
A dart thrown by an unsteady hand
That misses the mark more often than not
27 light blue lines horizontal
One long pink perfect to the side
Flanked by three holes
The design like a bulls eye
The ink pricks the center
But thoughts don’t follow
Too long in the dark, maybe
Maybe too long in the truth
They render my pen impotent
And dam the inspiration that would give it life
These empty pages mock me
80 of them, each one
Taunting
Daring me to smear their perfect whiteness
They are content to remain as they are
Worthless
Good for nothing but the fire
A total waste of resources
They want to be a looking glass
And they crave the taste of poison
"Make Yourself at Home"
We would run through the woods to the silos
Empty of grain we’d just crawl on in
To scream and shout and laugh at the sound of the echoes
Didn’t even know that wasn’t what they were for back then
And we’d sit and hang our feet from the edge of a wooden bridge
That creaked, groaned and sagged when a truck passed us by
Well, if that bridge still stands I call it a miracle
Will it still be there when I open my eyes?
In the fields of the autumn leaves
To the gardens of stone
You’ve got to make yourself at home
Rollercoaster rides on the back roads we’d go
Pickin’ up pecans and puttin’ ‘em in a sack
That we sold for a quarter for five to an old man
Who smiled and waved as we left, hollerin’ “Hurry on back!”
Hear the wind blow through the maple trees, son,
Leave that memory alone
And try to make yourself at home
Singing “In the Garden” at the early morning service
With the other kids, dressed in our Sunday best
All our parents in the congregation listening
If you could have seen their smiles
You’d know how we were blessed
A lot of years have passed by since I last saw you
A lot of work, a lot of pain, but a whole lot of smiles
Boy, ain’t it funny what time can do to you
So let’s stop the clock and go back for a while
To the fields of the autumn leaves
Leave these gardens of stone
And try to make ourselves a home
We’ve got to make ourselves at home
Empty of grain we’d just crawl on in
To scream and shout and laugh at the sound of the echoes
Didn’t even know that wasn’t what they were for back then
And we’d sit and hang our feet from the edge of a wooden bridge
That creaked, groaned and sagged when a truck passed us by
Well, if that bridge still stands I call it a miracle
Will it still be there when I open my eyes?
In the fields of the autumn leaves
To the gardens of stone
You’ve got to make yourself at home
Rollercoaster rides on the back roads we’d go
Pickin’ up pecans and puttin’ ‘em in a sack
That we sold for a quarter for five to an old man
Who smiled and waved as we left, hollerin’ “Hurry on back!”
Hear the wind blow through the maple trees, son,
Leave that memory alone
And try to make yourself at home
Singing “In the Garden” at the early morning service
With the other kids, dressed in our Sunday best
All our parents in the congregation listening
If you could have seen their smiles
You’d know how we were blessed
A lot of years have passed by since I last saw you
A lot of work, a lot of pain, but a whole lot of smiles
Boy, ain’t it funny what time can do to you
So let’s stop the clock and go back for a while
To the fields of the autumn leaves
Leave these gardens of stone
And try to make ourselves a home
We’ve got to make ourselves at home
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