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Dressed Down and Ready for Fire

There’s no god, and he’s not in this basement, but there’s a band and that’s more than enough for me
You look so cool, when you won’t put your hands up
Joking
There’s not enough time in the rotting core of this nation, planet
To try to put posture in this crowd,
In Rock and roll,
In Kerosene laden Wednesday nights
No one gives a fuck if you’ll help light the spark
but once this thing blows there’s no turning back
Thank god
Why would you want to?

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Dog the Youth

He’s heard rumors he’s in the twilight of his life
And though he can count his children since dawn
Time has yet to smell the optimism in his coming days
It’s funny how all we remember are the rings in wrinkled skin
The only maps we find are the varicose veins tracing paths away from youth
I’ve been scared to slide further into my own eventuality
But the way he embraced today’s sun has soothed my existence
I used to see life sitting like a rabid dog, hurried
Frantic
But today we stood together noticing each second of the day and I learned what it means
to live forever

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Show Alone

24, in a crowd staring down that new adrenaline
Era of punk releasing amp deaf riot on generation (fuck the letter)
Why has it been so hard to coax $12 out of friends to take part?
It’s turbulent in my psyche, I’m sure I’ll never get it
At least sure as fuck that I hope not
Things are passive for people, easily avoided in favor of a night of rest
Meanwhile future biographers contemplate suicide as they try to find something beyond sleep and solitude to enliven the success of man
It’s too young in this life to grow old, maturity is a poison noun that emboldens the risk averse with a sense of pride in their cowardice
I’ve come to learn that breathing fire will always burn the tongue
And it should
For how else will you remember the taste when you set your patch of earth ablaze
Ignited from your core, to light an effigy to every coming moment of your existence
So fuck it if you can’t come
In the end,
maybe you never had the spark to take part

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Sweet Jesus, Crucify Your Heathen Boy

Vibe children, great defeaters of the pestilence
Cruise movers, street sweeping the mundane
Lock into the sound mash, light blitz frenzy
I remember
The Bible talk of the chosen
Bullshit
Sanctify the willing
In the dying rain of unquenched, longing lips, the empty bucket of the deserving
Find me tossing rocks at the abyss
Listening…
For echoes, not answers

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Can we have our weekend 

Saturday, I think I spelled beret right
Anyway there’s a girl with a beret in front of me and Isaiah Rashad is the modern manifestation of rap ideals
I think she might get it, maybe
But she walks away and there’s more purple light on my mind, rising dark night
Bad beer hydration
Bouncing hands
Focus, blur evening orator
Whispers of politics, politics, politics
Bleeding into our venue doors
Don’t take the picture, revolutionaries draped in escapism
Saturday,
Saturday still dripping

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