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Claimants
Sacrificing our innocence,
We realize we had some;
And it makes sense,
It took the music of gangsters
To confront injustice.
The prince in his father’s arms
Said ‘but I’m just a commoner so long as you live.’
I figured that the handsome old man was a fair compromise,
He might see something in my youth.
I figure little kids make me nervous,
Because they have a better claim.
I see brave men strangling the secret to prevent the tears,
It isn’t about escaping fear,
It’s about getting off on what you can’t escape.
I see obnoxious midgets
Standing on the chests of tall men.
Whom did the tall men think made the mountains into gods?
With her script in hand, she is confidant this his her stage,
She isn’t so sure of her audience however.
People plead for stanza,
Fearing a narrative of metaphor.
Contented the married man holding his lover, says ‘its only metaphor,’
The woman sits with her vows,
Sagging lower than the tits
That would nurse her children,
If she was ever weaned herself.
Committing suicide,
We reveal the corpse of humanity;
Put the covers back on!
God is dead,
But no funeral means immortality.
Drug babies say the addiction
Is something like birth itself,
And the struggle
Is realizing who you should have been.
