Tourist

I felt lonely and isolated when I wrote this.

 

these days seems like there's always eyes
and these days the sun schemes with the skys
to burn away the clouds
I turn away from crowds
i'm learning to allow
things I wouldn't used to countinence
I bounce the checks and balances
spent all of my allowances
on substances and stupid s**t

I can't believe the lies
so they're calling me a cynic
I say that I'm a realist
but even I don't believe this
just another lie to Jesus
I hope that he won't judge me
I'm a pope upon a dung heap
I minister to flies
pertending that I'm wise
a tender in disguise
but I never told them lies

They just don't know how to listen right
and they ask me if I've got the right
and they ask me if I wanna fight
and I say that I just wanna light
cause the darkness of midnight
always envies the dawn
despite all the treasures that she looks on
always hidden
greeds forbbiden
in celestial bodies
all the best of parties
are lonely affairs
the sun and moon
are not there
to illuminate scared
and nervous faces
hiding in basements
denying displacement

and so they can't swim
the soldiers all grin
and herd the sheep to the ocean
I hide my emotions
beneath their thick wool
and smile like a sick fool
my style isn't sensual
my life an unwound spool
lays in heaps at their feat
no longer discrete
all spelled out and spun
the knots all undone
and thoroughly uninteresting