Club 51

not everyone wants to be free otherwise the trees would 
still breath
a circular validity, cashed-out dignity. i'm certified, 
dried and 
hypnotised don't tell me how to fly 
you are supposed to expose 
those who lie
it's a different kind, no words, no rights, 
only Santas dressed in white 
fears for those who spear a falling musketeer 
i appear not sure where to look, certainty on the hook 
eyes on an old book my mind spins at the speed of an 
unfulfilled dream it grows from toes to nose
handing over a black rose 
i pause, i gaze the unlimited faces, the relentless cases my 
generation appraises trapped in a floating ghetto 
my falsetto, cornetto, old school momento 
stepped out of a fine line being ludicrous is my attire 

Today is another day (what are you thinking?)
I'm meant to feel okay (my mind is sinking)
 
i stop when i want  
do i want to stop i ask and mask 
my thoughts are covered in mud 
what do you want to be when you grow up
resign recline befriend the light 
lay down your pride a moment of 
fiction arrives it's the magic flute my emotions on mute 
disguise what there is to devise 
so you think to yourself it's only another trick 
damn i'm scared, beware, you are strong 
a magnet of love and despair 
a heir of atonement and son of the warm summer air

Today is another day (what are you thinking?)
I'm meant to feel okay (my mind is sinking)
Never

I want 
     a sample of your thoughts 
     a pinch of your beats
I want 
      to scuba dive inside your tears
      forget what it meant to be on the steering wheel 
I want 
     to get sick of your romantic gestures 
     and manipulate your wild nature 
I want
     all those things I never wanted 

Flowers in the rubble 

they were born in crystal towns
glasses inside their eyes, a cellophane heart
rampaging  through infatuated streets
clinging on to fleeting stories
of ghostbusters and tardy glories
they were seen
petty and uneasy

the tune we used to listen to when we were 17
the rock of the masses and the pop of the uninvited
"we're sorry we are naughty,
but not for stealing a line or two in your afternoon paper"

silence for the loud ones is like crunches for the crippple
our pride will tow the glow
a twinge in your toes, a flashing hotel room
a fear of accomplishment devours their oath
to move on and flaunt their new routine

the tune we used to listen to when we were 17
the rock of the masses and the pop of the uninvited
"we're sorry we are naughty,
but not for stealing a line or two in your afternoon paper"

say no it's a maybe doesn't matter anymore
Trojan hopes plastered with ketamine
i was scared before i even believed