Things Obscene

THINGS OBSCENE

My breath is tasting sickly-sweet
My life is going down the drain
I see the words but I can't read
And inside we are all the same

It's true, you know - we're dark inside
The blood is bluish-green
The heart is clogged with nasty insults,
Empty words, and things obscene

The stomach, it has grown in size
To gigantic proportions
It must be filled or it will cry
And scream and scream and scream

The brain is just a lump of mush
Gray and lifeless it does seem
But somewhere hidden deep inside-
A spark, a light, a laser beam

Ghosts

(Don't try to think too deeply about this one. Much of it, I've realized, makes little sense. I wasn't thinking all that hard when I was writing it anyway.)

What is life itself were dying?
Would it even be worth trying?
Walking through my past life's lying
Walking through the walls

If life itself would make a choice
To stand or sit and ignore the voice
Maybe then we'd see the light
Maybe it would be alright

These written words - these noisy birds
These little bits of hidden pits
These useless books - would you just look?
And see the dilemma that we're in?

If time and life (such petty things)
Would just for once agree on things
But time keeps going while life stands still
And time gets all while life gets nil

The ghosts are back - they're always here
They're too old to haunt me now.
Besides, in time, we won't be really
Different after all

What Is This Story?

(this has been adapted into a song.)

Why am I here?
Who am I near?
What is this place?
And how do I steer?

Who is the teacher?
Who are the kids?
When did these students
Become such pigs?

What is this story?
Is it written in pen?
Where's the beginning?
And where is the end?

The clock has stopped
At 3:19
What does it mean?
What does it mean?

What are the answers
To all that I've asked?
Does anyone know
How much time has passed?

Sometimes I forget your name
Sometimes you do the same
Sometimes time moves slow
Sometimes I don't know where to go