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[15 Dec 2013|01:27am] |
"The Gardener"
I’m not man enough to be human
But I’m trying to fit in
And I’m learning to fake it
Don’t ever meet their friends
It tells you too much
Or not enough
Or worse
Exactly the wrong thing
Every nuance
Every detail
Every movement
Every smell
Sound
Phrase
Inflection
The way she laughs
These are all the things that you obsessively fetishize
Or make yourself grow to love
Although you are supposed to be done growing
She is still growing
Its like a garden with two flowers
One just blooming and casting a shadow
Just like yours
And then it becomes a struggle
Of sunlight
Or rain
Or weeds
She and every she
Is doomed to be your idea of her
She and every she
Is doomed to be your idea of her
I’m not man enough to be human
But I’m trying to fit in
And I’m learning to fa fa fake it
But worse so,
Back to the point
You are no longer the flower
And the sun
And most importantly the garden
Or the gardener
A muse
Your amusement
I am used
It's all ruined if you meet their friends
She and every she
Is doomed to be your idea of her
She and every she
Is doomed to be your idea of her
I’m not man enough to be human
But I’m trying to fit in
And I’m learning to fa fa fa fake it
Fa fa fa fa fake it
Fa fa fa fa fake it
Fa fa fa fa fake it
Ffffffffffffffake it
You never wanted
To share
Your concept of your creation
With any other gods or worshippers
Your book isn’t burned
It was never written
Your book isn’t burned
It was never written
I’m not man enough to be human
But I’m trying to fit in
And I’m learning to fa fa fa fake it
Fa fa fa fa fake it
Fa fa fa fa fake it
Fa fa fa fa fake it
Ffffffffffffffake it
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[15 Dec 2013|01:28am] |
Well it's 9th and Hennepin
And all the donuts have
Names that sound like prostitutes
And the moon's teeth marks are
On the sky like a tarp thrown over all this
And the broken umbrellas like
Dead birds and the steam
Comes out of the grill like
The whole goddamned town is ready to blow
And the bricks are all scarred with jailhouse tattoos
And everyone is behaving like dogs
And the horses are coming down Violin Road
And Dutch is dead on his feet
And the rooms all smell like diesel
And you take on the
Dreams of the ones who have slept here
And I'm lost in the window
I hide on the stairway
I hang in the curtain
I sleep in your hat
And no one brings anything
Small into a bar around here
They all started out with bad directions
And the girls behind the counter has a tattooed tear
One for every year he's away she said
Such a crumbling beauty, but there's
Well, nothing wrong with her that
$100 won't fix
She has that razor sadness
That only gets worse
With the clang and the thunder
Of the Southern Pacific going by
As the clock ticks out like a dripping faucet
Till you're full of rag water and bitters and blue ruin
And you spill out
Over the side to anyone who'll listen
And I've seen it
All through the yellow windows
Of the evening train
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