| Strand |
[Dec. 8th, 2005|09:43 pm] |
stand some strands, of bright white light
from size of light
to size of thread
squeeze through seas, go through land too
and seperate
the light instead
rip a bit, and build a hole
to fit inside
and maybe die
lightless life, a strandless goal
lightless black
all light makes that |
|
|
| Swan Song |
[Dec. 8th, 2005|09:42 pm] |
Follow, the bright white bird
your voice says you've heard
her sing her bright white word
ripples, shivers break the glass
she floats through the mass
of the bright white misty gas
the end, the swan needs no fret
she creates her intent
not to live, but live content
the bird, born by life to sing
echos the water to ring
to the voiceless bird with no wing
the man, born by life to choose
if life he can lose
or if his voice is his muse
she sings, the bright white bird
and seldomely heard
is mans song, his bright white word |
|
|
| Red Tiger |
[Dec. 8th, 2005|09:40 pm] |
A tiger red
her blood is spread
across my yellow mame
The jungle says
when I am dead
only red knows how to tame
The Jambe beats
now feircly eat
whats left of my yellow chest
The jungle tells
reach from yourself
you're just the tigers guest
A lion dead
my blood is spread
and keeps the tiger fed
The jungle told
that I'm yellow
But I can tame, my blood is red |
|
|
| Like a Ball |
[Dec. 8th, 2005|09:39 pm] |
I am a ball
Set me on a muddy field
With 22 broad shouldered beasts
Give me a good punt
In front of a stadium of screaming cheers
Put me in a barrel
With some explosive powder
And pull the trigger
ping
forced to body check cold hard steel
Throw me in the air
And wind up
Wack me as hard as you can
With your big ol’ tennis racquet
Make your opponent feel bad
Because he missed his chance to hit me
Beat me like a drunken husband hits his wife
For I am a ball
I’m just sand and rubber
Only used to be squeezed when you feel mad
Your face turning red
Passing off all your stress to me
According to you
I can handle it
Inflate me
I’m just air and rubber
Exhale in me until I’m fragile with stress
And tap me with a sewing needle
Bang
My skin rips apart
Like the worm who broke through my skin
To get to my juicy innards
And you leave me in a basket
Allowing time to rot me
Just so you can chuck me in a bin
To decompose into dirt
Torture me like a Nazi does to a Jew
I’m just a ball
I’m not a wife
Not Hebrew
Just a ball
If my owners got you pinned in an alley
And the mace didn’t work
Give me a good punt
I’m good at taking him down
In tears
Message me
If you’ve had enough to drink
Or if you love the face I’m attached to
He gets the pleasure
Not me
Or don’t touch me at all
Because your love goes deeper then me
Because you feel like a whore when you even look at me
Because you’re to square to touch me
Not round like a ball |
|
|
| Love |
[Dec. 8th, 2005|09:38 pm] |
It's not a twisted toungue on top of a mountain
or a good friends girlfriends erotic lips
I'ts not a hand down your pants in a cheap movie theater
Or even native beer
Brewed with 3am sex,
from a girl whos name you didn't need to catch.
Love's not Sexual
It's not pulling weeds so all the pretty flowers look even better
Or never sleeping under a roof, so you can be "one with nature"
It's not relying on green rings of smoke to have your brain think properly
or even feeling sympathy,
for a maggot covoured deer carcass
with a strong scent of dead fish
that you almost killed again with a footprint
Love's not natural
It's not butterflies devouring your stomache to reach someone you're convinced is beautiful
it's not composing a song, that decomposes your will to exist into dirty soil
It's not throwing seven months of dedication into the past, just so the future can beat the shit out of you
It's not a feeling
that makes you want to give thirty years of your life
to a lethaly sick friend
destined to be dead by twenty-five
No, love's not even a fucking feeling
It's a word |
|
|
| song lyrics - I bit my mind |
[Mar. 21st, 2005|09:26 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  relaxed | ] |
| [ | music |
| | bonobo - scuba | ] |
You break the law, I break the moon, you go to jail, the waves stop soon
You call it love, I call it cheese, 'cause love tastes good, but you laugh at me
You took a hit, I bit my mind, while you got high, my body died
You bled a bit, my blood has dried, you turned to water, I turned to wine
You bit my toungue, right off my face, I licked your heart, it had no taste
You sing a song, I talk a tune, about the law, and a broken moon |
|
|
| navigation |
| [ |
viewing |
| |
most recent entries |
] |
| |
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
brinporter's journal