Flashback

I think this'll end up being a song eventually.

I dance with the bones of Joey Ramone

To a love song about hitchhiking ghouls,

Wax up my tombstone; surf radio waves,

Spray paint the full moon slime green: “Jesus Saves!”

A punk rock vortex has eaten my home,

Breaking every one of Ike Newton’s rules.

Here come the memories like church bell chimes,

On a flashback-trailed acid trip through time.

 

I still haven’t touched the peak that I seek.

I still haven’t reached the bottom.

I still can’t see the great purpose for me,

In this burned-out concrete Sodom.

Angst sill glows like a half-dead star,

But I sleepwalk through my torture.

When I finally get my turn to burn

I’ll be a Molotov scorcher.

 

Before corporations owned teenage rage,

We were all in the pit, bleeding the truth.

In a wrecking machine flawed by design,

Doomed from the jumpstart like any timeline.

Now we’re just piled corpses, turn the worn page.

Our horns fell off and rotted with our youth.

Hung from a long boot-string of unsolved crimes

On a flashback-trailed acid trip through time.

 

I still haven’t screamed the words that I dream.

I still haven’t howled from rafters.

I still can’t take the saccharin aftertaste

Of “happily ever after.”

Angst still grows like a half-wit mutt:

A Rottweiler/Pit Bull hybrid.

When I finally get my turn to burn,

That dogfight will be one-sided.

 

I woke up broken like a man on the rack,

With my honesty pouring out crimson.

I’m not what I was; what I am is damned:

A cuckold wolf being led by the lambs.

I want so badly to turn the dial back

To before I became Homer Simpson.

Now I live spurts of venomous rhymes

 On flashback-trailed acid trip through time.

 

Just a straightened crook with a crooked spine

On a flashback-tailed acid trip through time.

Reviews

[Kerry O'Connor]

I'd love to hear it sung in your gravel-pit voice!

I still haven’t screamed the words that I dream.
I still haven’t howled from rafters.
I still can’t take the saccharin aftertaste
Of “happily ever after.”
Angst still grows like a half-wit mutt:
A Rottweiler/Pit Bull hybrid.
When I finally get my turn to burn,
That dogfight will be one-sided.

Ha! Classic!

[Kenneth The Poet]

If you play guitar, hit the club scene in Austin or SXSW and play this proud and loud.