the door’s not the buttons
you can’t move through wallet all of sudden
through economic chesspiece crease to brilliant release?
no, these the false tenets
get you played out like tennis
on stage of myth masks get grasped and clung to
all songs get sung through over and over
until the centipede entity spiraling farthest orbit
intersects and exposes normal horror as morbid
but first, let’s go have a sorbet
forgive me for disrupting your beautiful torpid soirée, bloated carcass
fed on blood of market
self-identified target
marked, nostalgic
hearken to comforts felt fleetingly during youth of abandon
no hands on bicycle
no plan but, ‘I might like to be like Michael’
but what the fuck
I woke up
can’t trust luck!
not trying to get stuck working nine to five
smoke cig vibe life
hope but not really try life
condone the status quo as a qualified specialized pro with coal soul
I’m no ho
my thoughts grow from subsoil
not the oil interests
laser through the dim mist
bubble and boil, the social is bleeding pressure
nourish with knowledge intersecting each measure

come to where you are, get to where you’re at
the old God and old scratch and the rubber
match
your soul in the ring, an immaterial thing
holds the key out from limbo to a sweet release

heavy metal ore
coal car tour
in and out of minds
digging out the mines
the wings won’t lift if they’re lead
the gift won’t give if the spirit is dead
wrapped up in linens coarse and fine
lappin’ up liquors, delivering fine wines
bouillon make a head lay in wait
split the rails, take the cakes
send the guards to the pearly gates
gold’s in the hole
art’s packed in crates
what’s a humans worth in weight?
compared to this trans-inter-continental freight
six foot slayer slate
full of fools in the mossy place
had Mossberg tools to face
let us pray cooler heads prevail
avail themselves on mic Excedrin
for bangin out lyrics, et cetera et cetera when they pull it
accelerating thoughts faster than a speeding bullet
more powerful than my Vans
look like sneakery
the winged feet of Mercury
look like my steelo
do you like Jordan did Craig Ehlo
evolve the styles like the life of Cee Lo
caps aren’t peeled, caps are pillows
putting heads to bed like the wind in the willows

come to where you are, get to where you’re at
the old God and old scratch and the rubber
match
your soul in the ring, an immaterial thing
holds the key out from limbo to a sweet release