Sleeping under the stars, not the stairs.

Mount an attack on over dramatic radio static statistics read the TelePrompTers dead cause I filled it with lead

moustached prophets with non-regional dictions, oracles and seers fill our ears with fears of weather and gears of war

The nature of man, the fight for the golden shore, will the bridegroom approach beholding a whore?

The innocence is broken, yet still so naive. So rampantly outspoken, yet willing to deceive

Call mob mentality anything you'd like, It doesn't change the fact that might don't make right!

I would like to forward the motion, I have had this great notion that the path of our species is lacking a thesis.

I'm a wind chime, a chaff, a burning sensation, I am a land mine, a force, and a source of inspiration.

If grinning a grin and biting a shin is the greatest of sins then I am a terrier in a rottweiler's loony bin.

Like a red handed culprit who spit on the pulpit and ripped all the pages from fools and from sages

There is no past like the one we are making, I sure hope to hell that we are not faking

But I guess it doesn't matter when the mad hatter yells clean cup you had better be ready to get up!

 

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