Search in the Shadows

Broadly speaking i'm a lonely man,
I wish I had more time on my hands.
I know no fashion, have lost the thread,
Of dialects and how to connect.

I've read a classic, and taken a look,
At apparently inspiring books.
Full of many complex words,
I read eagerly even though perturbed.

The books and films all digress,
Into what amounts to more or less,
A scheduled walk around the block,
Another week of tick, tick, tock.

It seems to me that no one knows,
Or no one thinks about their throws,
Of death that they will finally meet,
When flesh meets dust and thoughts cease.

Am I completely alone,
On my pretentious throne,
Do others think the same,
I worry I might be insane.

I want to meet the father, son and holy ghost,
I want to hear what i want most.
Why am I here?

Sense Balance

Sweet flowers spawn sweet desires,
Golden sun feeds magic,
Pure water cleanses souls, inspires,
A warm smile makes you ecstatic!

Rotten eggs breed rotten heads,
Stinking fish starts dripping,
Mouldy cheese makes weak knees,
Death by my soul itching.

My life is full of good and bad,
This is often quite confusing,
I kick back with my guitar and start to sing the blues again.

Hands and faces

Tick, tick, tick
Tock, tick , tock
Sitting here looking at clocks,
Not the ones with hands and faces,
But people evolving, turning and aging.

The first second strikes,
It's all smiles and cheers,
Miracle of life brings us to tears.
But why does it do this, what is its power?
Do we see our true desire?

Moments pass, we forget the thought,
Wipe away tears and stand up tall,
Walk through the valley and learn to forget,
We are now masters of pain and regret.

Finally the horizon starts to glow,
Lighting the place we all go,
I hope you are ready, and enjoyed the walk.
The clock again begins to talk.

Tick, tick, tick,
Tock, tick, tock,
Tick.

Morning is Broken

Morning is broken oh what a morning
Blackbird has spoken for the last time
Praise for the factories, praise for production
Praise for the capitalists mining our minds

Sweet acid rain falls, high from the heavens
Sold as sacred, blessed by our Lord
Falls on our children, praise for our bosses
Lining their towers, with ivory walls

Mine was the sun light, now I have phonecalls
Sold as the fine life, subsistence sublime
Think every morning, where you are going
Think every morning, you could be more.