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"the last full moon (pt. 1)"
"we are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars."
yea there was a time,
a time when he was close to clarity.
yea there was a time when there was only a tad bit of misled magic.
a time when he was everything -
everything but a patriot of the tragic.
~~~
& he would shift in the mattress,
shuffling in the shaded velvet,
& he would awaken to collect his thoughts.
& he would think a long-while -
thoughts of hope & hollywood & everything beautiful,
thoughts of happily ever afters nailed to a cross.
thoughts of january,
thoughts of february,
thoughts of everything since.
thoughts of reason,
thoughts of credence collecting dust n' rustin' in the basement,
placed adjacent to his innocence.
his english professor always thought he should be a philosophy major,
just by the way he thought with his papers.
but it was his thoughts he couldn't figure out how to word,
that would all make sense later.
~~~
& he would let the murky coffee clear the conscience.
& he would yawn & stretch,
allowing his wandering thoughts to mesh.
& somewhere along the line he's believed in a some things,
a street musician strumming rusty blues,
humming dusty tunes -
acting as the hammer & nail,
acting as this shattered social scene's blacksmith.
he saw him on his way to work daily,
stooped at the avenue turn,
& as the taxi would swerve,
he would realize something -
round here, jesus only hangs around with plastic.
but somewhere along the line he's believed in some things,
a family of vagabonds,
huddling round a barrel of fire,
gathering warm air.
metropolitan nomads,
he always wonders when he sees them,
why it is that round here, it seems only tragedy forms prayer.
yea cuz somewhere along the lines he's believe in some things,
the flourecence of the street lights as they slice the concrete,
the macadam chips that ricochet off the curb -
as the taxis bring the nine to fivers to work.
the phantom of the opera,
the manhattan ghosts.
even the goblins that wander the city's floors.
but most of all,
it's the jester's last joke.
most of all,
it's the fake grins & crooked smiles,
most of all,
it's the sorcery of new york.
~~~
& he would work his blue collar shift,
as an intern in the offices of the university he attended on full scholarship.
thoughts of beliefs & broadway & everything beautiful.
thoughts of a thousand sunsets lighting up his windowside cubicle.
thoughts of a once upon a time wasteland,
where rumplestiltskin still sleeps,
& tinkerbell's broken her wing.
where cinderalla never finds true love,
& hansel & gretel never find their way home,
& he would dig himself deep.
thoughts of a burnt down never never land built upon industrialism.
crowded with factories & warehouses & the city's familiar vagabonds & street musicians.
surrounded by barbwire & rusted chainlinks.
thoughts.
thoughts.
thoughts till he couldn't think.
& he would dig himself deep.
yea he would dig himself deep.
~~~
but yea there was a time,
a time when it was all lullaby & goodnight,
yea there was a time when he wouldn't co himself in complication.
a time when he wasn't crucified in contemplation.
knowing it's all too crooked,
cuz see, what he saw in this world,
you wouldn't dare to look to in observation.
& he would think.
& he would think.
knowing it's all too crooked.
& he would think.
& he would think.
& he would dig himself deep.
& he would think.
& he would think.
knowing it's all too crooked.
& he would think.
& he would think.
until he realized it wasn't he who was digging himself deep.
* edited cuz i just noticed a major spelling error
if it was minor i wouldnt have bothered
but it seemed rather major
pz
Last edited by Infinite Truth; 10-01-2004 at 03:57 AM.
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