The Sellouts
Men born with an idiots wisdom and a crooked grin.
Men born with a logic on the illogical and with a grace to mishap.
Bashful "Thank you's" and arthritis tainted genuflects.
Coffee stained teeth and nicotine stained breath
With a whisper they throw caution to the wind.
Rain pours down streaked windows while pale faces press against them,
you can see it in their eyes the tragedy the water exudes.
Deep sighs and shaky breaths I can see the stretchmarks on your pockets where you used to hide your crossed fingers,
fingers that gently stroke the glass.
Somewhere a kid is taking the tracks home,
tempting the trains and those who wield them.
Tracks of rusting material taken from the Earth, funny how nobody ever asked what it was for, but that's human nature isn't it; shooting first and asking later.
Same goes for the oil thieves, is it really a bi-product of the extinct or what greases the plates? tectonic plates now brittle, writhing and moaning to wretch up and build a new landscape, a new hell.
In the dark of night the power lines hum deadly hymns to the vacant sleeping streets.
A dull lullaby to that which cannot hear.
Pointless but personally comforting, like talking to the man lost in a coma.
We tell ourselves he'd appreciate it, in the end-
he never even noticed.
The street lights cast an leery glow across the faces of the nobodies.
Shadows lining up in contrast against the hallows of their faces where they all have black eyes and loose lips.
The light makes their skin glow, glow in a way their heart doesn't understand or their mind can't see.
While in the distance a child plays another is being sung to sleep.
Enchanted by the sound of a loving voice,
they have yet to realize it is only for the moment.
Do they ever notice its absence? Only when it rains as their fingers gently stroke the glass.
Hiding in plain site morals are haunted by desire, and desire is choked down by psyche
meds.
Prescriptions filled with the flick of a wrist whose veins are filled with envy, disrespect and gritty lies.
A hundred miles away prison mates wait for their meal, comforted by their lack of reality and counting on their lack of heart.
Men relying on a crooked grin, men relying on a idiots wisdom.
Men who took the tracks home and stood under the streetlights.
The boys and girls who listened to the power lines deadly hymn,
and were lulled by the nights vacant singing.
The faces of the nobodies.
Men born with a logic on the illogical and with a grace to mishap.
Bashful "Thank you's" and arthritis tainted genuflects.
Coffee stained teeth and nicotine stained breath
With a whisper they throw caution to the wind.
Rain pours down streaked windows while pale faces press against them,
you can see it in their eyes the tragedy the water exudes.
Deep sighs and shaky breaths I can see the stretchmarks on your pockets where you used to hide your crossed fingers,
fingers that gently stroke the glass.
Somewhere a kid is taking the tracks home,
tempting the trains and those who wield them.
Tracks of rusting material taken from the Earth, funny how nobody ever asked what it was for, but that's human nature isn't it; shooting first and asking later.
Same goes for the oil thieves, is it really a bi-product of the extinct or what greases the plates? tectonic plates now brittle, writhing and moaning to wretch up and build a new landscape, a new hell.
In the dark of night the power lines hum deadly hymns to the vacant sleeping streets.
A dull lullaby to that which cannot hear.
Pointless but personally comforting, like talking to the man lost in a coma.
We tell ourselves he'd appreciate it, in the end-
he never even noticed.
The street lights cast an leery glow across the faces of the nobodies.
Shadows lining up in contrast against the hallows of their faces where they all have black eyes and loose lips.
The light makes their skin glow, glow in a way their heart doesn't understand or their mind can't see.
While in the distance a child plays another is being sung to sleep.
Enchanted by the sound of a loving voice,
they have yet to realize it is only for the moment.
Do they ever notice its absence? Only when it rains as their fingers gently stroke the glass.
Hiding in plain site morals are haunted by desire, and desire is choked down by psyche
meds.
Prescriptions filled with the flick of a wrist whose veins are filled with envy, disrespect and gritty lies.
A hundred miles away prison mates wait for their meal, comforted by their lack of reality and counting on their lack of heart.
Men relying on a crooked grin, men relying on a idiots wisdom.
Men who took the tracks home and stood under the streetlights.
The boys and girls who listened to the power lines deadly hymn,
and were lulled by the nights vacant singing.
The faces of the nobodies.