Are you a relic or a heathen?
Understanding the complexities are often misleading
In a world so packed that the grain becomes invisible
Comprehending air becomes a product of the individual
So infidel try me; clock time through the looking glass
Suicide find me; Beat the breath that took the class
And ask the last straw if its ready to pull the plug
When it doesn’t reply simply destroy it and run
We beg for the kaleidoscope to exert maximum pressure
We prey to the oracle to present minimum endeavors
We keep asking for utility to function as a causeway
To conceptualize freedom demolished on a bad day
But that way provides little to know real action
And we love our destruction laced with passion
So why should we ever down a knee to his grace
When a simple blade of grass can suffice in its place
This is the calling card of meditating running mans
That close doors to predators whose missiles are running plans
This counters to the counter rerouting at the corner
Understanding the works of lords in golden armor
Why should we bow to the fiction of the fictionalized?
Why should the sun be a byproduct of what isn’t criminalized?
Why does the underground have to be filled with the dead?
What’s the point of burying our past over our heads?
We lost all reign over the drops of memory that smother me
You could ask why but the answer isn’t really anything
The answer is a vague recollection of theories
That most if not all have not cared enough to carry
We are smart enough to realize that ignorance is blissful
So let’s just damn those curious to a hell of loaded pistols
Nothing is a skill and in itself is nothing
So damn the heaven-sent, this is an idol for the stuffing
Understanding the complexities are often misleading
In a world so packed that the grain becomes invisible
Comprehending air becomes a product of the individual
So infidel try me; clock time through the looking glass
Suicide find me; Beat the breath that took the class
And ask the last straw if its ready to pull the plug
When it doesn’t reply simply destroy it and run
We beg for the kaleidoscope to exert maximum pressure
We prey to the oracle to present minimum endeavors
We keep asking for utility to function as a causeway
To conceptualize freedom demolished on a bad day
But that way provides little to know real action
And we love our destruction laced with passion
So why should we ever down a knee to his grace
When a simple blade of grass can suffice in its place
This is the calling card of meditating running mans
That close doors to predators whose missiles are running plans
This counters to the counter rerouting at the corner
Understanding the works of lords in golden armor
Why should we bow to the fiction of the fictionalized?
Why should the sun be a byproduct of what isn’t criminalized?
Why does the underground have to be filled with the dead?
What’s the point of burying our past over our heads?
We lost all reign over the drops of memory that smother me
You could ask why but the answer isn’t really anything
The answer is a vague recollection of theories
That most if not all have not cared enough to carry
We are smart enough to realize that ignorance is blissful
So let’s just damn those curious to a hell of loaded pistols
Nothing is a skill and in itself is nothing
So damn the heaven-sent, this is an idol for the stuffing
( Jason D. Morris )
www.ChordsAZ.com