tclebron

to them the bombs drop like rain a sequence so frequent it calls for refrain the bombs drop like pain felt in the heart of your mother who buries her brother and in the bottom of her arteries her baby siblings' blood recollects and she collects memories she will never regret swimming in the river and singing in the street they both had led life straight and never strayed from the will and testament of God but — that didn't stop the bombs and that's no fault of His cause these revolutions won't stop like turning gears in a clock one will turn the other but all the noises made doesn't mean that they suffered because they w

at the tip of my fingers a drumbeat followed this pen across a map of the w o r l d all art through conquest "don't hesitate", scores of men spoke of a pause even brief brings down kings and the lives they lead they have been here once before and i      as amateur as could be led them and their wives to unfortunate end the movement of flesh and steel a masterpiece of modern artistry

breathe in this northern wind like you mean it, like you need it this is the sea and                             i'm signaling the sirens look      they are streets "these hawks sink like dead weight" no son of mine will be this kind of king

at night the sea turns a special hue take this story untrue                                         take this story untrue                           "i've had my hand in every jar" "come quietly", she said "these halls are foreign fields" am I yours or are you mine? who is the proprietor? these are stories untrue these are stories not new i kind of have my head in here still at night we come alight                      take this story untrue at night we come alight                      these are stories not new take this story untrue take this story untrue

lean back and grow old and watch these green mountains             turn to gold ever present effervesence and the best man best known as that drunk responsible for every exhale from here to that funeral parlor where last rites never seem right i once heard a wise man say                   'we will burn Utica to the ground' we can long for all the short sighted half accomplished never fully finished sentences but the past tense is said and done

disrupted di st e n s io n come back down now                                   boy there's a sword that needs falling upon and i was told you were up to task but colors change, child nonpermanence is more than so and becoming stone is easier than standing still aciculate oxygen floods the respiration system breathing                the classic hit nerve endings short like frayed wires in third world machinery lo que un acto de fe

i love lighthouses. but they remind me of an STD i once had.

the pieces of an orchestra come together to make something regardless of their sound; shape, or size. the pieces of the human race run together to make it to a line and take in the high as a winner will we make such beautiful music but i've never seen a violin                        take a knife to a cello's throat

in a gentle thread we tied three together and moved along like we knew nothing of what transpired and we conspired to set fire to the captains quarters and just like city lights that glow the armada lit up what we hadn't seen all the corners of the evening sky