Ripping her off and taking it as my own
though used only once, I'll consider it a loan.
The thoughts unbidden and untame,
I find it kinda fun, almost like a needle in a vein.
I can toss and twist verse to my liking,
and give it my all without far to fall,
I can speak of heart matters of those of the soul,
I can shout about sex and drugs, or that chick with the mole.
Let it run, Let it run
I'm not stopping now cause my story's not done.
The wind blows chill, much like my heart
and those eyes burn, burn bright.
They send me swirling in a volcano of lust,
but then again they might be missing
lost in the rust--
covered statues, day in and day out,
sitting here with a muse to the right makes me want to shout,
"Get it done! Get it done!
I'm tired of your tired words.
Let us free and we'll never forget you,
until the next time we drink, which might be tonight"
Though she'll never let us go without a fight,
lets bust the tables and the chairs,
and the hearts and minds
for what we think is right.
RAGE, RAGE--
against the dying of the light.
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