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we threw gasoline on the fire and now we have stumps for arms and no eyebrows
brilliant
a word describing something dumb
you create to desecrate
the villain i've become
a prophet
not to be made but heard
speaks in tongues and sarcasms
to me it's plain
to you absurd
you don't know me let alone my intent
actions do not always self represent
i don't feel urgency in explaining
my conscience opaquely clear
the seed is gently sewn
back to mother earth
the flower blooms resplendent fumes
a miracle rebirth
the cynic
in search for something more
the fragrant air cannot compare
to what it was the great before
remember the good old days
remember the sound
remember the sweet muskiness underground
no i don't feel the need for reliving
some things are better off dead
never thought the furnace
was gonna burn us
we worked the bellows for so long
the comfort of the fire
to appathize us
looks like we burned ourselves alive
remember the old band
we filled ears with pain
nothing to lose
there was nothing to gain
no i don't miss my span of attention
i do miss my old friend tim
