Up on the hill I hear the dog’s cry,
My head burns and my spirit fries
As all around me everything dies.
The house is rotting and decaying from inside,
My parents break, dying, dead, and do not confide.
I am in this turmoil of hate,
My own brother does not respect his fate.
What is it about this state,
That makes me feel so sad that this is my eternal mate?
I hate it here,
Yet those held dear
are in this bondage, forever near.
When I go away
I feel guilty in my free lance play.
I hope to make all these things stay,
As a devotion to my internal way.
But in the poor, peasant cry of the broken spirited dog,
A covering, blackening, blanket of fog
Envelopes us in this darkened bog.
We kick, scream, fight, as if we have another day
And fail to question the validity of such dismay.
Why is it that we thrive in this mess?
Is it so hard to walk a single day without disturbing the lovely rest?
Like single minded pests,
We envelop all that we see,
It is are nature to simply be,
The thing that makes the dog cry,
And just to get by.
Never do we truly seek,
And show compassion to that which we believe meek.
We are the world’s greatest endeavor,
But forever?????????????????????//
Forever we seem to disrupt such a gift
And throw away our time in mindless thrift.
We are that bog which sucks and pulls.
We are the mindless fools.
This world is made up of more than tools.
In an external bondage we must try to contain the beast.
We must not have our way and openly feast.
We are never going to be happy in a world without peace.
……………..

This is a skit currently in the works about not so normal super hero’s fighting crime, featuring yours truly…

Messing around, gettin the DO THE ELLEN remix just right!

Me feeding pumpkin pie to the gangsta pumkin!