wejustfeeldeadman

We just feel dead man like heavy chests on the bottom of choked oceans - throttled nonchalantly with the heavy smoky debris of defeat.

We just feel dead man like the souls of shoes that are torn out when feet attached to hearts attached to minds attached to hands and breasts and lips and eyes are thrown astray by heels pounding raw earth trying to escape the debauched pupils of the running knife-death buzzing towards them with rock hard intention.

We just feel dead man like the hands of poets left dangling when the bishop looms at the end of our beds and says those final words, the ones that we never wanted to hear because we knew that couldn't truly live in this mental cage. The simple thing was that irony kept us bitter.
So bitter we couldn't live,
so bitter we couldn't rot.

We just feel dead man like the windows on shattered orphan eyes kept naked in sudden darkness, life is a sucking crushing womb for the forgotten and it keeps pushing and pulling their skulls that are painfully creaking and cracking between the walls of an ignorant fleshy machine.

We just feel dead man and you look to us for guidance?
For chivalry? For violence?

Well you can cut the balls off a sheep but it is still going to follow the rest of 'em.
We don't pack viciousness into our hearts unless you are related mate,
then we can sense distate and we'll be vehemently opposed to your sense of trivial desires. Light our fires mate, light our fires...
In rolling ovations nobody yearns.

In prostate celebrations everybody learns
the tears of the victor fall as quickly as the victim.
The liar spins webs and the believer slowly ebbs
into the sticky sinews of caustic castration.

We are the fucked insects of the modern garden of eden,
we can't see the bigger picture with our thousand eyes when we are asleep.
The praying mantis bites our heads off with sexual vigour
postulating that it is embracing our nature.

Tombstone faces stop and forget to breathe when these words elicit the turncoat clowds that shatter and break into shaming fragments of cunning deceptions - pumped from scientific schools bred deep in the vault like minds of the banking institutions that hold in the turbulently beautiful waters of nazareth.

Spanish archipelagos offer constant wisdom to those not faint of heart,
to those born to actually live.
Not born to fall for the hidden ardent genders like flies on shit.

We just feel dead man
like lazarus on his stony bed
tomorrow's dream: another automatically spoon fed cream
burdoning the real feelings of another nation generation bled from the cradle to the grave...

If you sneeze you won't be blessed.
Gotta sell your soul just to 'impress'.

We need more than just a spade to dig us out of this mess...

We just feel dead man.

We just feel dead.