or two ago
grow up and
and in the now
fall down and
or two ago
grow up and
and in the now
fall down and
Arrogant boy, when will you ever learn?
That this world is not made up of roses and thorns
Sometimes the blossoms wilt but the weeds will remain
Waiting for a chance to stick briers in your name
You can stop chasing good girls by their hourglass hips
And bringing more rounds of vodka and shotgun to your lips
You can stop using your arms as a substitute ashtray
Or your skin as ivory to carve out sculptures in scarlet clay
And all your best friends that proclaim they’re sincere
Draw insults behind your back and say it’s good fun and fair
They don’t have time for drama, but get front row seats
When you’re deep in the mess, entangled in bullshit
Your smile is bleeding out, teeth scattered on the sidewalk
“Good one, guys” you say, but they never want to talk
Your eyes don’t need fists to be darker than they already are
The lack of sleep does that, when you have come home from war
You read the daily newspapers to know about everything else
Trying to care about them, when you don’t know anything about yourself
You give up your seat for others, thinking it’s an act of selflessness
When in reality, you just hate yourself to much to deserve any duress
And you think that you’re happy, but you’re just distracted
Choosing to admire the vivid carnage when you have self-destructed
Because it’s all the same to you, and it just doesn’t matter whether
Your life gets blown apart mile-high or moves inch by inch like a feather
Blind boy, when will you see that they’re all laughing at you?
Your youth is too old to pursue the optimism of a hard-knock truth
When can you draw the broken line between a break-up and a breakdown?
When will you stop trying to swim and simply let yourself drown?
Ignorant boy, don’t be sorry for believing the lies, but will you ever even learn
That this dismal, ravaged wreck of a world will turn and turn and turn
No matter how much you stumble, trip, and cry on your faded hand-me-down shirt
Time won’t stop, your friends won’t care, your wounds will still bleed and burn
You can scream but no one will listen; foolish boy, don’t you see you’re not much worth?
Hard times, gonna make you wonder why you even try
Hard times, gonna take you down and laugh when you cry
These lives, and I still don’t know how I even survive…
Someday I will be able to walk
Without slipping on liquid gold
Dust away the dirt off my name
And keep the paper cranes I fold
Someday, and I will promise myself
I would do anything to get them out
From a wishing well empty of coins
And into a world worth keeping now.
‘Cause I’ve broken bones for you
And for you only
I make money but we just can’t
Keep this home…
i don’t ever want
the world to fall apart
just because of avaricious eyes
begging for fool’s gold
i’ll burn all the money i have
and let my house collapse
into a decrepit debris
if that means i could keep you
because this isn’t all about
shiny pennies and diamonds
that we try to mine under our flesh
and yet only unearth coal
this is about all those prospects
we threw to the faraway moon
how our unfortunate fates
aren’t spun into twisted infinity signs
yes, our mouths may be empty
but it doesn’t mean our hearts have to be
so set your faith past obscuring greed
and cease bleeding for the sake of worthless riches.
Give me your heart
And your hand
And we can run
(You’re my hope)…
Lied faceless identities and lost nameless bones
Broken mirrors romancing with concrete stones
Low voices muttering in the middle of the night
Back against the wall, turned under black lights
Standing in the midst of destruction that rebirths
Sacrificing sanctity for the sake of scars to revert
I will be what’s wrong with the world.
A hundred metaphors deleted in boldface type
Swearing for the shadows, cursing lack of spite
For no one envisions a future with personal ties
Because tongues can only soar out when they lie
An arsenal of armory, walls built to keep them out
Convinced by the paranoia and mitigated by doubt
I will be what’s wrong with the world.
So call out the name that’s censored in every news station
Immortalised only in faded graffiti and youthful separation
So seek on and find now what can only be seen by the blind
To a place where wrong is right, and the heart beats the mind
I won’t be the marching guide, the black parade you’ll follow
But in a reality of common opposites and moral contradictions, I know
I am what’s wrong with the world.
The world’s not fucking built of saints
Only gilded tongues and corrupted eyes
The infected castigating the fellow taint
And floral-laden verses dripping of lies
Persecution is just another word for purge
Heaven’s open, but first we have to grovel
If I wanted sanctimony, I would go to church
Instead of listening to this tormenting drivel
If they listen to prayer, then I pray that you’ll stop
Holy shit, this pious virtuousness makes me laugh
I don’t mean to be crass, but these words mean bullshit
We don’t have time for compelling, get damn used to it
I’m not an atheist, but I just don’t believe in playing god
And if they’re here to preach some more, then hell can take me back
I don’t condemn beliefs, just don’t force it down my throat
Because I won’t enjoy the taste—I will just bring it back up and choke.
I have candy floss over my eyes, and no one can ever take that away from me.
I’m a double dare away from jumping into the clouds and getting lost in heaven, and even though their motionless lips tell me otherwise, imploring that the despondent sun will burn my frail skin and my charred cape will drag me back down into the ground, I’ll simply fly over them and defy what it means to be human.
For being an angel is not made of mere matchsticks and febriculic feathers, rather, it is the catastrophic sensation of breathing in your existence from your lungs and never letting it go, holding your oxygen in so tight that your chest will hurt, and tasting the very molecule that the wind is built up of, all before exhaling heavily and letting others share the light that passed the very chambers of your symphonic heart, and inhaling that decadent love once more like it’s the only sugar high you need.
I’ll be dancing a hundred footsteps as I reverently play the halo’s mellifluous beat around my head over and over again, but I shall never get tired of laughing and listening, and the glow never fades, the glow never coalesces into a darker retrospect of aspirations and bad habits, the glow is etched at the very back of my confounded head and if I close my eyes and wish a little softer, I can see pastel whispers floating and resonating behind my dreams, smiling quietly as it tells me fairy stories about twill reveries and acrylic oneirism.
Will you tell me that much? Will you beg in blazing yellow and speak in purple hand grenades, waking up again when the water parks detonate and soothing water splashes everywhere? This is not my gloomy lullaby meant to be kept under hushed tones and clandestine affinities, buried under the bones of ‘92, rather it is an everlasting caprice that is meant to be jubilantly shouted from the rooftops, until the nightingales and mynas and bluejays and hummingbirds mimic the colours in my eyes and echoes back a chromatic rainbow to be chased.
Am I not making any sense, or is the semblance of my self-optimistic throes withdrawing like violent ocean waves? It is not their fault, and it certainly isn’t mine. It’s yours. It’s all yours. This nonsensical tirade making me backlash the usual defamation that is my wretched soul, making me passionate for what used to be desert sand and black light, now efflorescent flowerbeds and ultraviolet ecstasy, making me smile and laugh childishly at the most fickle of things like a madman staring limerently into the cornflower moon. You let a playful cyclone into my bedroom while I was sleeping, and it ravaged my closet and spun me all the way to your window until I was sickly dizzy, and you held your hand out to steady me and pulled me in, winking cheekily at the cyclone and returning its breezy grin before waving it goodbye.
Now that I’m here, will you promise to keep me? Airplane conversations and clustered entertainment isn’t enough to leave me amused. Are you laughing at my sadness yet? Are you performing odes along to me mournfully singing about the underhanded depression that makes me mad all the time and fucks my worried flurried mind up when the night is young and makes me go down the long road home? I’m a car crash that you can’t ever look away from, and I can’t ever look away from you. But don’t follow me to the site of the wreck. If your favourite set of stairs is the one up to my room, piece together the trail of love notes I left in the kitchen that say it all, and when you find me, I won’t ever have to let you go up. Let’s be lucky people, you and me.
Amid tantrums and crybabies, you’re nothing but rare. I may not be a warrior and you may think I’m the worst, but I know I don’t have to sleep alone again. So won’t you stay awake, stay awake for me? If you’re singing about la-la-la-love, my tune is more to the beat of a la-la-la-lobotomy. You’re my yellow lovely jealousy, in natural blue and viridian green memories, I’m losing my mood in a late night phone call, shading everything else from silver to pink to hiding under porches and craving territorial phantasms, it doesn’t matter. My common sense is powerless when you speak, and I’m not royal but I’m stupid for you, and 11:11 can go away because I don’t wish for anything else. I’m tired. You’re tired. Let’s be tired together. It’s more fun that way, don’t you think?
I have gloomy clouds over my eyes, and only you can ever take that away from me.
Rest, pour into the concrete outlines of my concrete bed
And write me another song about narcoleptic nightmares
We’ll wash away the wasted world with chlorine screams
With the rose you left embedded in your chest, and there
We’ll crash all our pendulum promises into the pavement
Lingering shards on your lips, and lodged deep in my pen
I won’t stay in California and burn the palm trees with you
But I’ll bite down on the truth and listen to your halo again.
I know that there’s no dealing
With the way I’m feeling
I’m so out of touch with everyone
And everything’s a blur to me…
I’m super high on happy
The dopamine nearly kills me
Bouncing like an excited puppy
Smiling wears me all the way to revelry
Slightly crazy, mostly high
But right now I’m too stupid to die
I may have ditched the walk to town
But playing sour notes won’t get me down
I could talk about love all day
But don’t get me wrong, ‘cause it’s easier to say
Than to complain about my cold coffee
The sugar tastes sweet, laughing over candy
I’ll never be royal and I don’t wish for gold
But I just don’t want to do as I’m told
I might have missed another point
But keep your eyes off me until you appoint
Life in blue and colour-coded pastel
The empty picture frames I have can go to hell
I may be tired, but there ain’t nothing to it
And I won’t stare and quietly sit
Because I love songs that scream, songs that dream
Songs with titles ripping at the cover’s seams
I love songs that I can dance to at the top of my lungs
And songs that don’t make any sense, I won’t leave them unsung
Made in America, from Houston to California
A wild party in Baltimore, childish theme parks in Florida
From Australia to England, each road and tour a trip
For each minute I walk and listen, ain’t anything I’d skip
I’m dizzy and frisky on this unfamiliar feeling
My hands raised in devil signs, my feet touching the ceiling
I’m confused, almost passing out from hysteric serotonin
But still I want more, enough to take me all the way to heaven
I’m super high on happy, and I will write a million words
About my eccentric thoughts in this square-cut world
Because I may be sad all the time, but that doesn’t mean
That I’m not allowed to have fun, and in the rarest times that I do
It’s more than what I need to carry on and crave life again.
It’s the fact that you are entertained
For virtually no proper reason at all
Only finding your fickle amusement
When I’m laughing so out of the blue
Because you’ll never have to find any
No, you’re merely content with seeing
Happiness in others, and your innocent
Soul finds that as all the more reason to
Smile in this solemn, humourless world.