BreakCanon
12-31-07, 12:56 AM
This is a symposium,
And I just mounted the podium,
Dine on your fine wine,
And I’ll hold the line…
I crave bookworm encyclopedia mathematic fractions,
A distraction while I disassemble the framework reaction,
And take a piss on each and every one of your faction flags,
Waging a guerilla war using buffoonery tactics,
There isn’t much to the house, but plenty in the attic,
Pot holed memory lanes and some forgotten synapses,
To play with at a whim until I get bored with a passion,
Adrenal fluid runs out and I crash in crass fashion…
Build cliffhanger off the wall rocket-to-the-moon crypts,
Since all of the regular **** serves only to make me sick,
Why take a taste of the world when you can create?
Make anything you want of life and stake your own claim,
There are no limits to the brain, only artificial constraints,
So why be a horse when you can man your own reins?
Something to be said for being deranged,
When walking slabs of meat cut against the grain…
My basis hinges on several weary dimensions,
A gluttony rampage disguised as dissention,
Hiding my contempt for anal retention,
A pack of cigarettes with an empty book of matches,
I assemble this patchwork ad-hoc and clumsy,
Whatever the consequences, I know what it does for me,
Staples my world view to my shoulders like epaulets,
Because experience is a war which should be fought,
Without regret.
Enough battle has been done to fill a thousand pages,
Stories of gore and death waged to kill a thousand sages,
And what of the innocent hermits caught in the crossfire?
Detritus compared to the significance of the guns for hire,
And yet the mercenaries of the intellect fill the annals of the ages,
Eras of men and women who scream truth out their lungs and cages…
And I just mounted the podium,
Dine on your fine wine,
And I’ll hold the line…
I crave bookworm encyclopedia mathematic fractions,
A distraction while I disassemble the framework reaction,
And take a piss on each and every one of your faction flags,
Waging a guerilla war using buffoonery tactics,
There isn’t much to the house, but plenty in the attic,
Pot holed memory lanes and some forgotten synapses,
To play with at a whim until I get bored with a passion,
Adrenal fluid runs out and I crash in crass fashion…
Build cliffhanger off the wall rocket-to-the-moon crypts,
Since all of the regular **** serves only to make me sick,
Why take a taste of the world when you can create?
Make anything you want of life and stake your own claim,
There are no limits to the brain, only artificial constraints,
So why be a horse when you can man your own reins?
Something to be said for being deranged,
When walking slabs of meat cut against the grain…
My basis hinges on several weary dimensions,
A gluttony rampage disguised as dissention,
Hiding my contempt for anal retention,
A pack of cigarettes with an empty book of matches,
I assemble this patchwork ad-hoc and clumsy,
Whatever the consequences, I know what it does for me,
Staples my world view to my shoulders like epaulets,
Because experience is a war which should be fought,
Without regret.
Enough battle has been done to fill a thousand pages,
Stories of gore and death waged to kill a thousand sages,
And what of the innocent hermits caught in the crossfire?
Detritus compared to the significance of the guns for hire,
And yet the mercenaries of the intellect fill the annals of the ages,
Eras of men and women who scream truth out their lungs and cages…