Application For Federal Assistance
TACK ONE ON FOR THE NEIGHBORHOOD
WHEN YOU’RE ELBOWS TO ASSHOLES AND ONLY GOOD
FOR THE FIX AND THE TRICKS AND THE WAREHOUSE BRICKS
THAT WE’RE MOLDING FOR HOLDING SOULS. BUNNIES LEANING ON NEEDLES IN A COIN PURSE HUTCH DISCARDED IN GARDENS OF GARBAGE AND BRUSH.
AVAILABLE PARAPHERNALIA ENABLES PROLIFIC PROMOTION OF SUCH.
SO WHAT ARE WE TO DO BUT WATCH THE SIDEWALKS WEARING THROUGH?
CRIME HERE’S NOT JUST ORDINARY. CRIME HERE’S SOMETIMES NECESSARY.
DO WE FOLLOW THE TREAD OF TRANSIENT, LEAD-FOOTED LEFT-FOR-DEAD WITH NO REGRETS AND NOTHING IN OUR HEADS?
WELL I’LL PASS THE BUCK AND THE BLAME ALL FUCKING DAY.
AND I’LL GIVE A WAVE AND A SMILE IF I GET PAID.
AND I’LL SELL A SERVICE, A SENTENCE AND CELL, AND I’LL EVEN THROW IN A DAY PASS TO HELL.
IT SURE WON’T BE FREE, AND IT SURE WON’T BE FAIR, BUT IT’S TRADE.
NO I NEVER HAVE BEEN BLESSED WITH IRRELEVANT SUCCESS,
WITH THE LUXURY OF EMPTYNESS, OR INTELLECTUAL REPRESS.
BUT JUST LIKE YOU I WILL DO WHAT I DO REAPING MARGINAL SUCCESS.
CAUSE WE’RE ALL DOING GREAT AND WE’RE ALL DEPRESSED, AND WE’RE ALL FUCKING MAKING A HUGE FUCKING MESS.
AND WE’RE ALL FUCKING DRESSED LIKE AN ASSHOLE AT BEST,
BUT BREATHING THROUGH ONE OR TWO SHOTS IN THE CHEST IS A WALK IN THE PARK WHERE THE TOWER IS CASTING A SHADOW AROUND YOU AND YOUR PLACE OF REST.
I DON’T KNOW IF YOU’RE A BETTER ACTOR OR IF YOU’RE JUST A BETTER MAN.
I DON’T KNOW IF THE GOOD LORD IS ACTUALLY STRIKING ME DOWN OR IF HE’S JUST TESTING MY WITS AND COMMAND.
AND I HAVE NO CLUE AS TO WHAT I SHOULD DO TO GET MYSELF OUT OF THIS HELPLESS EXISTENCE.
BUT I’LL PASS THE BUCK AND THE BLAME ALL FUCKING DAY.
AND I’LL GIVE A WAVE AND A SMILE IF I GET PAID.
AND I’LL SELL A SERVICE, A SENTENCE AND SELL, AND I’LL EVEN THROW IN A DAY PASS TO HELL.
IT SURE WON’T BE FREE, AND IT SURE WON’T BE FAIR, BUT IT’S TRADE.
YEAH, IT SURE WON’T BE FREE, AND IT SURE WON’T BE FAIR, BUT IT’S TRADE.
YEAH, IT SURE WON’T BE FREE, AND IT SURE WON’T BE FAIR.
YOU’RE TOO BLISSFUL TO KNOW, I’M TOO CONCERNED TO CARE THAT IT SURE WON’T BE FREE, AND IT SURE WON’T BE FAIR, BUT IT’S TRADE.
*****
Three Cheers for a Phenomenal Failure
THESE SOULS ARE SELLING OUT ON CLEARANCE TONIGHT.
THEY’RE HALF OFF AND HALF OUT OF THEIR MINDS.
IT’S ONLY LASTING FOR A LIMITED TIME.
YOU KNOW WE’RE JUST MAKING ROOM FOR NEW MERCHANDISE.
THE GARDEN’S TURNING OVER IVY AND THORNS.
THEY’RE RIPPING OPEN ALL THE SCARS THAT WE’VE WORN.
WE’RE WAITING ON ANOTHER SHIPMENT OF SOULS TO BE BORN AND REBORN AND REBORN AND REBORN AGAIN.
AND WE CALL THESE DAYS WELL SPENT AND BASK IN THE GLORY OF OUR PRIOR DISCONTENT.
WE’VE GOT FORTY-FIVE MINUTES TIL SUNSET.
WE’VE GOT THIRTY-FIVE MILES TO HELL.
WE’VE GOT TWENTY-FIVE SECONDS TIL THESE LIGHTS BURN OUT
AND AN HOUR TO KILL BEFORE THE TOLL OF THE BELL.
WE’VE GOT A HANDFUL OF LIVES AND A HEARTFUL OF KNIVES AREN’T THEY OURS TO GIVE OR TAKE? TO KEEP OR SELL?
THE TRAIN WILL CARRY THROUGH THE WALLS OF THE SHACKS, BUT BODIES PILE AND THEY’RE BLOCKING THE TRACKS.
YOUR BOARDED WINDOWS LET BREEZE IN THE CRACKS.
I SEE YOU FIENDING FOR YOUR CHAIR BUT THERE’S NO TIME TO RELAX.
PASSIONATE PATTER RESONATES IN THE FLOOR.
A MARCHING ARMY OF THE WORKING POOR IS CLOSING ON THE HILL OF YOUR FRONT DOOR.
WE’VE GOT PITCHFORKS AND TORCHES AND LACK OF REMORSE.
NOW BITE THOSE NERVOUS NAILS AND CHEW THAT LIP UNTIL IT SPLITS.
THIS DREARY WORLD’S DEFEAT DON’T MEAN SHIT.
*****
Paraphrenic Schizonoid
HE WAS A DIRTY OLD MAN WITH A CANE ON HIS HIP
WITH A PAIR OF BLANK EYES AND A SCAR ON HIS LIP,
AND I SWORE I HAD NEVER HEARD WISER WORDS BEFORE
HE SAID TO ME, “IN A CITY OF FOUNTAINS YOU CAN SINK OR SWIM.
IN A SHIT TOWN YOU’RE DESTINED TO DROWN.
BUT IF YOU’VE GOT THE BALLS PACK YOUR BAGS ON A WHIM, AND TREAD THE TESTY WATERS OF THE UNDERGROUND.”
THERE’S RED ON THE HORIZON OF PACIFIC SETTING SUNS.
THERE’S BLOOD IN WESTERN WATERS, IN THE FOUNTAINS WHERE THEY RUN.
AND WE DRINK IT FUCKING DOWN.
AND IT RUNS WITHIN OUR VEINS.
AND IT’S FERROUS IN OUR VENOM.
AND IT SEEPS INTO OUR BRAINS.
YOUNG SAILOR, YE BE WARNED THERE’S A RED SKY ON THIS MORN.
THERE’S A TALE OF TERROR WRITTEN IN THE WAVES.
YOUR HATCHES BEST BE BATTENED DOWN LEST YE’D JUST PREFER TO DROWN.
THERE’S NO EPITAPH UPON A PIRATE’S GRAVE.
THERE’S RED AMONG THE BIRDS OF BLACK IN EARLY EASTERN SKIES.
THERE’S HEED OF WESTERN WARNING IN A SAILOR’S WAKING EYES.
AND HE DRINKS IT FUCKING DOWN.
AND IT RUNS WITHIN HIS VEINS.
AND IT’S FERROUS IN HIS VENOM.
AND IT SEEPS INTO HIS BRAIN.
WHAT DO YOU LOVE, AND WHAT DO YOU LIVE FOR?
IS IT THE REFRESHMENT OF IMMORTAL BREATH OR THE BLOOD THAT YOU GIVE FOR?
WHERE DO YOU LAY, AND WHAT DO YOU LIE FOR?
IS IT THE COMFORT OF THE BED YOU MAKE OR THE ONE YOU WOULD DIE FOR?
YOU CAN SELL ME YOUR SINS. YOU CAN LEND ME YOUR EARS,
AND I’LL SING YOU THE SONGS YOU’VE BEEN DYING TO HEAR.
WE CAN ECHO RESILIENT RESISTANCE WHILE YOU TAKE THE TILLER AND STEER.
*****
A Congratulated Pre-Approval to Go Get Fucked
YOU’VE GOT YOUR BACK UP AGAINST THIS WALL AGAIN
WATCHING NICKELS AS THEY SLIP THROUGH THE SWEAT IN THE PALM OF YOUR HAND.
YOU’RE SLEEPING WITH THE DOGS.
THEY’RE YOUR ONE AND ONLY FRIENDS.
BUT YOU SHOULDN’T LET THEM LIE WITH THAT GLEAM IN THEIR EYE.
SLUMBERED RIGHT THROUGH THEIR CANINES DIGGING IN YOUR FLESH.
THERE’S A WHOLE LOT OF MONEY TO BE MADE IN PEOPLE GOING BROKE.
THE WHEELS KEEP TURNING AND THE GEARS KEEP GRINDING.
YOU CAN LISTEN TO THE ENGINE AS SHE SPUTTERS AND CHOKES.
DROWN IT OUT WITH THE BLUES OF THE RADIO NEWS.
TIP A DOLLAR ON THE CORNER CAUSE YOU KNOW YOU’RE NOT WEARING HIS SHOES.
MIXED UP WITH GIVE-A-FUCKS AND HOW-DON’T-YOU-DOS.
YOU’VE GOT YOUR BACK UP AGAINST THIS WALL AGAIN
DOING BLUE-COLLAR TIME FOR A WHITE-COLLAR CRIME THAT YOU DIDN’T COMMIT.
NOW THE BUTTER’S GONE SOUR AND THE BREAD’S GROWN MOLD,
AND YOU WONDER WHY THE CHILDREN WON’T DO WHAT THEY’RE TOLD
WHEN YOU’RE WISHING IN A HAND FULL OF SHIT THEN YOU MIGHT AS WELL FOLD.
THERE’S A WHOLE LOT OF MONEY TO BE MADE IN PEOPLE GOING BROKE.
THE WHEELS KEEP TURNING AND THE GEARS KEEP GRINDING.
YOU CAN LISTEN TO THE ENGINE AS SHE SPUTTERS AND CHOKES.
DROWN IT OUT WITH THE BLUES OF THE RADIO NEWS.
TIP A DOLLAR ON THE CORNER CAUSE YOU KNOW YOU’RE NOT WEARING HIS SHOES.
MAY MY DEBTS DIE WITH ME SO MY CHILDREN AREN’T DESTINED TO LOSE.
MAY OUR DEBTS DIE WITH US SO OUR CHILDREN AREN’T DESTINED TO LOSE.
*****
Nothing Says “Success” Like a Trendy Coke Habit
SAVE YOUR IMAGE FOR THAT TELEVISION.
I’VE GOT NO TIME TO TALK, AND YOU’VE NO TIME FOR DISCOURSE.
I SAID TO SAVE YOUR IMAGE.
I’VE GOT LASER VISION.
I KNOW THAT SUNGLASS SWAGGER AIN’T JUST PAR FOR THE COURSE.
THEN CAN’T YOU SEE THESE BITE MARKS BLEEDING FROM MY TONGUE?
THESE FANGS OF GOLD WEREN’T WORTH THEIR WEIGHT IN WORDS, AND NEITHER WERE THEIR SONGS.
SELFISH? SELF-PRESERVATION. CAN’T WE ALL STILL GET ALONG, OR IS SOMETHING WRONG?
WELL I DON’T KNOW.
BUT IF IT TAKES ONE TO KNOW ONE TO DRAW ONE TO BLOW ONE THEN
NO ONE CAN GO ON PRETENDING THEY’RE NOT.
IF IT TAKES ONE TO KNOW ONE TO DRAW ONE TO BLOW ONE THEN NO ONE CAN GO ON PRETENDING
THAT WE’RE ALL GETTING BY ON STIFF DRINKS AND CHEAP LIES,
AND WE’RE ALL DRAWING LINES WITH CLEVER CALLOUS DISGUISE.
YOU’RE THE COOLEST MOTHER FUCKER WHEN YOU’RE COLD AS HELL.
THE VOMITORIUM IS CALLING YOUR NAUSEATING NAME AT ALL HOURS OF POWER AND STATUS ASTRAY.
AND WE’RE ALL GETTING BY ON STIFF DRINKS AND CHEAP LIES,
AND WE’RE ALL DRAWING LINES WITH CLEVER CALLOUS DISGUISE.
AND WE’RE ALL DRAWING LINES. WE’RE ALL DRAWING LINES.
