Deep Days in the Dead City
Deep days in the dead city, in its jungle like streets,
‘Our days are numbered,’ I’ve heard that somewhere along life’s line; in songs, perhaps in the Bible, here, there, but I’m still here. Everyone wants to play in this game called life, I just want to get away, out of the city, its parks and dogs, its streets, and family members that are more strangers to me than strangers I’ve just met; I think a city over 50,000-you lose something (if not your heart, your head).
The Devils around more of the time I believe, in such bigger cities; I know He’s here in my hometown, St. Paul, Minnesota; He’s at the movies a lot also, I’d say. I’m not missed here much, and I live here, no reason to stay, love is in some other place. But He likes it like this, more games to play.
I had to cross many rivers, many streets, or so I feel to get to so many people that are too busy to give a damn, or a once of time, whom are more stuck in their own cocoons than I. What is my solution? Go to the mountains—leave them all behind, leave them before you lose your mind, there is no love no affection, pretense is like a vine, it wraps around their busy, busy, busy minds. Here my eyes never go dry; I’m like a ship sinking, everyone grabbing the rafts from me—let him sink, they sing, we got money to make, do other thing.
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, hope never to see you again, everyone. Don’t need me anymore anyway, time, struggles, the big city, the jungle streets: you never gave an once of peace, or sleep, and everyone thinks he or she is the great somebody, the man, the king of the house, the whore who never scored, the bitch who got rich, and lost her soul for a dead fish. Raise the kids to spit farther, too late to teach them right from wrong, respect or regret, the city will tell you how to act and raise them, or perhaps it did: it’s your children, the city’s got your best interests: and the kids turn out to be worthless. The walking dead, better you talk to stranger, less dread, or go to the mountains instead.
#1378 7/9/06
Deep days in the dead city, in its jungle like streets,
‘Our days are numbered,’ I’ve heard that somewhere along life’s line; in songs, perhaps in the Bible, here, there, but I’m still here. Everyone wants to play in this game called life, I just want to get away, out of the city, its parks and dogs, its streets, and family members that are more strangers to me than strangers I’ve just met; I think a city over 50,000-you lose something (if not your heart, your head).
The Devils around more of the time I believe, in such bigger cities; I know He’s here in my hometown, St. Paul, Minnesota; He’s at the movies a lot also, I’d say. I’m not missed here much, and I live here, no reason to stay, love is in some other place. But He likes it like this, more games to play.
I had to cross many rivers, many streets, or so I feel to get to so many people that are too busy to give a damn, or a once of time, whom are more stuck in their own cocoons than I. What is my solution? Go to the mountains—leave them all behind, leave them before you lose your mind, there is no love no affection, pretense is like a vine, it wraps around their busy, busy, busy minds. Here my eyes never go dry; I’m like a ship sinking, everyone grabbing the rafts from me—let him sink, they sing, we got money to make, do other thing.
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, hope never to see you again, everyone. Don’t need me anymore anyway, time, struggles, the big city, the jungle streets: you never gave an once of peace, or sleep, and everyone thinks he or she is the great somebody, the man, the king of the house, the whore who never scored, the bitch who got rich, and lost her soul for a dead fish. Raise the kids to spit farther, too late to teach them right from wrong, respect or regret, the city will tell you how to act and raise them, or perhaps it did: it’s your children, the city’s got your best interests: and the kids turn out to be worthless. The walking dead, better you talk to stranger, less dread, or go to the mountains instead.
#1378 7/9/06
posted by Dennis and Rosa Siluk at 12:34 PM
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