How the wheels have turned since I fell from grace
All the things I yearn give a bitter taste
Watch the fire burn, my love gone to waste
All the points I’d earned now bring me much pain
What’s the big concern with the about face
Not hard to discern reasons for the rain
Heard them say those words, oh what shit they say
Starting now to learn not to rush each race
Things could not get worse, gone without a trace
Insatiable thirst, wish they’d go away
Time waits for no man, must do what I can
Try to understand Godhead’s master plan
God is mine alone, the love I’ve been shown
Wisdom I have known in life’s whirlpool blown
And God, he is me, why can’t people see,
That we are all free to do as we please
Revolt at the gates of heaven’s decline
Resigned to my fate, a blessing in time
Such a bitter taste pitted against wine
Choices made in haste as teeth start to grind
Mind state not too great, it’s time to rewind
Filled with fear and hate, fall further behind
Don’t like much to wait behind the white line
Reverse the brain drain, really troubling signs
Demons must be slain for things to be fine
Time to sieze the day, the onus is mine
Chance waits for no man, must rise where I stand
Try to lend a hand, this god’s failing plan
Life is mine alone, the pain I have known
The seeds I have sown, in time I have grown
The fool, he can’t see his real enemies
Hiding in the trees, decay and disease
Chaos breaks at dawn in a restless town
All the pages torn by a bat shit clown
The path walked well worn, the pressure unwound
Their words make me yawn, death stares all around
A rebel reborn, they can’t drag me down
Mild-mannered man roars, the deafening sound
A non-violent force strong enough to drown
Fat cats at the source of many folks' frowns
Emotion so raw with passion unbound
Let’s fight the class war, tactics well-renowned
Resistance is born of hearts broke and torn
Liars makes me yawn at the break of dawn
King upon his throne wants the wealth alone
Til our lids have blown, a story well known
Take back the power in the prime hour
Watch the pricks cower in their high towers
Art sucks. Poetry sucks. Everything is fucked. I suck. You suck. So if I am so anti-everything, why do I even bother "creating" anything? Well one has to do something with one's time. Welcome to my playground. I am the Dissident Poetician. Doing Poetician stuff is what i do. "Art is dead, don’t consume its corpse" - graffiti in the streets of Paris, May 68. Long live the spirit of May 68. Piss in the fountain of dada.
About Me
- dissident poetician
- i am the dissident poetician...i tear down fences with sardonic sardines and metaphysical cucumbers
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