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Pavement
Paper hat jobs build
Green indian inked tresses
Bi-weekly lined wallets;
Survival digresses
-
Riddle me wether we're really evolving
If we're just revolving, or slowly de-volving
In turning our life-styles over to paper,
The presses are humming,
They make her or break her
'Depends on the line
Of the queue that she's serving,
So rarely on wether or not
She's deserving
-
'Cause comps are all paid
Based on hours and wages,
And those who stay strong
Are the stones of our ages
Never mind if they stuck it,
Said fuck it, Or quit,
The ones who put up
Wind up wading through shit;
While knivers, Back-biters,
The cheats and the liars
Move up the next day-
Still the stones found the pyres...
-
For one day, they'll burn
When their falsehoods run out,
Even so, justice falls;
Paper holds greater clout
And the next batch of theives
Press as weeds 'twixt the stones
Rarely, if ever, they see that they owe
All they own-
To the stones
That once held them at bay,
Providing and guiding,
All-wise long the way
-
Until in the future,
They break as they give
To the plants who strike free
From the cracks and the grit
And forget of the stones
From which they were birthed,
Discounting their value;
Forsaking the earth.
Remember the stones.
: 03/22/05
