Bones crack

Ceilings burn, homes lack
The moon shines and bones crack
Funky zombie junkies urge the heated needle in, turn around
And burn the haystack
The moon sqeaks and bones crack, snap!

Simply put, this chestnut tree grows off a crooked root
The worms burrow deep in our kind, but we no longer bother
We're safe in the shade and we sell eachother
Tell eachother that we're under cover
And then we throw caution to the up abover's secret lover
So, yeah, why bother?
It's the game and it's as salty as a pickle
If we run out of nickles, we'll use the old man's gold cufflings
He's dead in the ground so there'll be no come uppings

We wish for the future, rape the past, and hate the now
I'll sell you, cause well, you sold me
I'll be your best friend and your prettiest trophy
Underneath the crooked root chestnut tree



Poetry by lou bergs
Read 1009 times
Written on 2005-08-16 at 23:28

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Commentally Ill
sell you...... now there's a thought, how much do poets bring on the market these days, it could be the answer to my troubles!
2005-08-17