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The JokerYou know what we all are? We're dog's chasing cars.
None of us would know what to do with one if we caught it!
You know We would just do things.
Think about it the mob has plans, the cops have plans even Barrack's got plans.
You know they're schemers.
Schemers that try to control their little pathetic world
Then you get people like me and this lot.
We try to ruin their schemer
We're Just a few that do what they do best
Try and turn people's plans in on itself
We aren't schemers; We show how pathetic their attempts to control things are
I mean Kennedy was a schemer, he had plans
Look where that got him
(What too soon America)
Have any of you noticed?
That nobody panics when things go "according to plan"
No matter if the plan is horrifying.
If the press publish, that tomorrow a gang-banger will get shot in the New York,
or a truckload of soldiers will be blown up in Iraq or Afghanistan.
Nobody panics.....because it's all part of the plan.
But when they say that one little
Monologue Sitting in the dark I can't forget, now I realise what I will never get. Just another story of the bitter twist of fate. Now I Know I can't go back again. You asked me to adore you and I did, trading my emotions for a indenture to oblige. You managed to tie my soul into a knot and get me to submit. So when I escaped, I only got so far. Now I'm away all I have are these scars. Now, you have left me, I don't know where I belong. The other me is dead, but I hear his voice inside my head. We were never alive and we will not be born again, but we will never survive with these dead memories in my heart.
You buried all your secrets in my skin, you left with the innocence and I remain with the sin. This air around me still feels like your cage. When your love was just a camouflage for your hatred and rage. Now my heart is just too dark to care, After all how can I destroy something that is not there? I beg of you, deliver me into my fate, if I'm alone I cannot hate. My smile was taken long
A Bloody, Stupid Miracle The day we’d cured the human condition was the day I put a bullet through my head and didn’t die. It was also the day I realized how scared I actually was of death, and after hours of muscle ache from holding that gauze against my open skull, after the wound closed and everything went back to normal, I had myself a good old-fashioned brainstorm. How ironic.
But when summer came, everything had fallen to shit. The air scorched my skin and parched my tongue every time I took a breath. The sun glared down on a rapidly-collapsing world, full of the undying bastard children of cruelty and misfortune. What was one to do when their cells regenerated faster than they decomposed?
My feet hit the pavement, now littered with jagged bits of glass to snap at my toes, thoroughly baked by the blazing ball of bitter disdain high overhead. Today was worse than yesterday. Though I’d often wondered the purpose of it anymore, I
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