Hipster Crises (aka Disenfranchised Octopus) (a song) in E minor

(Verse 1)
He's just not healthy anymore and he's just not ever happy
And he's just not interested in coming over for a cup of tea
He slumps a little when he walks and slurs a little when he talks
And he's just not strong enough to make the time to spend with me

(Bridge 1)
And he's forgotten all about me
And he's forgotten all about himself
And he fumbles at his car keys
Like a disenfranchised octopus

(Chorus)
Don't carry me at all if you can't bear to carry yourself
Don't think of me as a signing board for all your anxieties
You can't drown me out with rich boy chemically numbing tablets
I'm not the place where you can scratch for all your so-called hipster crises (cry-hi-sees)

(Verse 2)
He's just not picking up the phone and logs out when I come online
He blames me for his lack of youth, I blame him for his lack of trying
He jokes that there's a world out there where we are happy endlessly
And I leave hoping that perhaps he'd call me when he goes to sleep

(Bridge 2)
But he's forgotten all about me
And he falls asleep effortlessly
And I get home and make some tea
And drink it somewhat restlessly

(Chorus)

(Bridge 3)
I, I, I would say that we both could do with some space
But then again that's all we have between us these days
I, I, I would say that we should see different people
But you never really looked at me, you never really cared to see, you never really tried

(Chorus)

-o0o-

Itch

That feeling that you get
When they stand up to talk

And you're totally upset
So you just sit there and gawk
And they slather their stupidity
All over your fresh skin

Like some comic absurdity
Like a storm drain caving in
That you can't scrape clean

With even the most acidic insult
And you stifle the inward scream
That you carry with tumult
You suppress the growing urge to fight
Your palms itch, Your hands twitch

Your teeth grind against the withheld slight
When you resist the urge to bitch
You watch them as they come at you
Convinced of their vocation
As their stupidity runs through and through
Like some Grindhouse theatre monster exploitation
You muse a while and wonder
On their lack of education
Hoping they'd shut up
Before a bitter confrontation

And then you imagine with elation
If there was a time and place
If you provide that education
With a shovel to their face

-o0o-

Bullshit (Part 1)

We speak out against your bullshit

     And your stupid superstitions

That is the truly guilty culprit

     For our grief and our afflictions

Your unscientific notions

     Anachronistic narrations

All your abstract little potions

     All your hate filled inspirations

We have seen your war and battle

     And how you've colonized the land

So reducing us to cattle

     As if God Himself had planned

So that we the tiny bastards

     Somehow fated to live in shame

Must we now bow to you - our masters?

     And this way carry all your blame?

So risk perhaps a moment here

     To consider things in this way

And shut your mouths and lend an ear

     Consider our words when we say

That if you claim to be of Him

     Who suits your purposes so well

Then you and He and all His kin

     Can freely fuck off right to Hell

-o0o-

My Mirror, Not Yours

(Originally titled: Ahuh... and then some)

I had spoken to a friend

About what gives this all meaning,

The words we write to sate our bones,

To give our souls a cleaning.

And we spoke of fools like you,

That look into our looking glass,

And take what's our reflection,

And stick it up your ass.

We don't write our souls,

For your eyes to have inspected

     every heartfelt word,

     as if you're the one neglected.

This is not play-play words,

     where you come to raise your leg

     and to piss all over me

     because your soul instead

     writes the words you had elected

     for me to rather choose.

     You're not my inspiration.

You are not my fucking muse.

You're not my family, my lover,

      acquaintance or my friend.

You're the echo of the past.

A story with an end.

This is my mirror and my image,

Where I keep my joy and pain.

If you think your teeth can cut me here,

Then you're more than just insane.

If you think that you know better,

If you're such a manly-man,

Put your money where your mouth is,

Write your own shit... if you can.

-o0o-

Bigot

You can't fix me

     When I'm everything that's right about you

You can't kick me out,

     When doing so means your own ejection

You can't call me wrong

     When I'm everything you do

You can't rub me out

     When I'm your very reflection

You will kick me when I'm down

     And I'll carry on as always

And you'll spit on my grave

     In the name of your false idolatry

But I'm there on your floors

     On your roofs, in your hallways

I'm no good anymore

     As the ballast for your bigotry

-o0o-

Don't think of me as Crazy

This is some undated song I found rummaging through some old files... no idea when I wrote this, but it's a song, and the only reason I know it's a song is that it had chords on it.

Don't think of me crazy, but i think we both know

I tend towards the extremes, I'm a sucker for the show

I'm a very short lit fuse on a bomb all set to blow

And I'll fucking rip your heart out if you think you'll get the best of me

I'm not one for petty violence if the cost is just too high

I'm content with being peaceful if you'd give my way a try

But try to screw me over and I'll stab you in the eye

Don't think that I'm your punching bag, your just not worth that much to me

-o0o-