Motor Head Boy
Intact I am math,
but in a blast I run fast-
somewhere above the tree line
I am seen as fine,
but inside I am tried.
The weather doesn't help locate a song,
so I hop on a motorcycle to get gone,
I soon crash into a nearby tree,
and lay on the ground for weeks.
The sooner I come home-
the lesser I learn how to grow,
and its never anything but my last breathe of shine that I felt my teeth grind,
gashing the enemy-
the way of the blind,
organic and prime,
my weaknesses don't show,
so I am fine.
And while feeling fine,
in an interesting wine,
I smell the pine,
it aches within me-
raking at my earliest pillory-
so I walk on pleased,
get paid,
and then go spend all my pees,
with this withering game of time,
I get hexed to know some of mine,
but I soon stop,
eager to drop,
1,2,3, and then four,
four strips,
one token,
and two years unspoken,
where I turn and spin in the door,
a splendid welcome to adore!
What shores have washed away from the pores!
What course I have taken to learn how to adore!
But there is a land I lived in alive-
but it just wasn't my find,
I was there,
but it wasn't my mind...
I wish I could scream!
Feel mean!
Go away unnoticed!
Then re-arrive climbing in trees!
Birds eat the bees,
lizards the breeze,
but character never breeds,
its gotta be seen-
understood,
spoken and then dreamed,
before you wake to it,
just like she made ya do it,
and you jerked yourself through it,
started ta loosin' it,
got loaded,
and became a rude influence.
|