Today slipped away from me
Who knows if I’ll ever get that back
Not like I needed the hours anyways
for my mental capabilities
Show me what I’m looking for
Show me what I’m looking for
The day I understand what’s in my head
is what I’m living for
Patience never hurt anyone
Patience never hurt anyone
until I realized that the call would never come
But patience never hurt anyone
When’s the part where I get to storm out and say
“look who’s still breathing
and giving God a reason to live another day!”
But then I think
some things are better left unsaid
Patience never hurt anyone
Patience never hurt anyone
until I realized that the call would never come
Today slipped away from me
and who knows if I’ll ever get that back
Show me what I’m looking for
Show me what I’m looking for
The day I understand what’s in my head
is the day I’m living for
You may think you are promoting peace
when you take a child's voice
You may think you are guiding them
in the right way
When they make you uncomfortable
with things they think and say
I want you to know, the secret side to this
Their voice is not your voice
You may be demoting peace
For how can they recognize
any other pain, song of true love
Voices crying in the dark
They themselves have not learned their own sounds
Having been made uncomfortable
You replaced their voice with your own
Have you ever heard the birds sing
Sounds of night
So many voices finding their own way
Perfect harmony
In crooked trees and faded flowers
So don't ever think for a minute
Your voice is their voice
If ever you get uncomfortable
With their authenticity
Ask yourself
Why the trees are crooked
Flowers are faded
Voices still singing in perfect
Harmony
Carols let you in on history and its interpretation,
Church thought and theological progression,
Show that people and writers have learnt the lesson,
Not to believe in god so thoroughly and to be of good reason.
We’ve learnt to move the god meme over to reside in derivation,
To human beings, to people and to their postulation,
In derivation to Jesus, as one of these people, an initiator with a motion,
Who wished for humankind that all the ill were given a kinder notion.
Christinna Georgina Rossetti in her hymn of devotion,
Equated Jesus with nature, not nature with Jesus, obviation,
Because the snow came first according to In The Bleak Midwinter composition,
And the ox and ass were enough for the lord, the baron.
She ended with Jesus requiring our all, not god or divination,
By demoting god to a lesser place, a quieter spot by a dumber meditation,
By stating that our own daily lives are relational to the son, not just a projection,
Not a false image of our personalities that we make only for god’s gratification.
The earths just one big trash can
Gets pushed up into a mountain
The oil spills, the whacked out pills
Look how we're surrounded
Land of decree, home of decay
Stopping tomorrow to deal with today
Mixed up messages mixed up minds
All of these questions, all of the time
Going to bury my head in the sand
Going to run as fast as i can
Not going to follow the plan
The plan it is a scam
Not going to work
Just want your brain to hurt
Just want your heart to squirt
It's a drop dead reality
Stuck in this cavity
Surrounded by catastrophe
Acting diplomatically
Making the brutality the reality
Glorifying fatality
Pull our minds out of the gutter
There is still more to discover
We will stand tougher
Smother the sucker
Let us restructure
The strategy practically destroyed the galaxy
Demoting our nationality, we won't live unhappily
Improve our mentality, principality, constitutionality, heterosexuality, and confidentiality
Actively attracted me to your mind
Maddened me
Saddened me
Made me blind
Mesmerized by a sight
Of an angel cloaked with sin, I was
Doomed to be consumed by whispers
Of a mind's fixated rasp
On a vision seducing
That metaphors, in exhaustion, in silence died
And was tattoed painless and quiescent
On the mind;
An addiction demoting the soul
From ashes to fire,
Drumming the heart a tune
Long ago forbidden.
Thirst quenched only, and only, when desire,
Iris to iris,
is reciprocated
—thus is this secret between Heaven and I.
Mesmerized by a sight
Of an angel cloaked with sin, I was
Doomed to be consumed by whispers
Of a mind's fixated rasp
On a vision seducing
That metaphors, in exhaustion, in silence died
And was tattoed painless and quiescent
On the mind;
An addiction demoting the soul
From ashes to fire,
Drumming the heart a tune
Long ago forbidden.
Thirst quenched only, and only, when desire,
Iris to iris,
is reciprocated
—thus is this secret between Heaven and I.
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