12tone blues
Depth of cut, down the pit of the self-concept’s core
Hate the game; love the player whose whole world is sore
Bishops, rooks, knights, and pawns are the blind, leading sheep
Go the wind’s way; adhere to the form; take the shape
Archives we keep for posterity
Sink to archaic antiquity
Legacies fade with identities
History swallows our skeletons
Bones of old collateral damage hide in lost muck of the earth, forgotten
Any numbered body could well have died with some honor, or died a virgin
Leaves and snowflakes fall, as the dollar-bills and coins enter and leave our wallets
Leave a gentle nuisance alone; enjoy your own blessings, and curse your servants
Wallow in reputations, dealings, and roles; win points with minds who pull strings
Wrestle with brutes in shallow ideomud; steal spotlights; flex your huge grins
Sure you can render unto Caesar a T4 slip from Mammon each year
What will your adaptations prove when the real, true future leaves your past bare?
All of your gilded silver shall endure more time than your grave
Cold as the guns and bullets the police need just to be safe
Dignity, pride, and status are the 666 of the beast
Toughen your public armor when your most deep self is a ghost
Inner-strength is the weakness of all who declare war on inner-peace
Shoot reporters who ruin the news with the truth; shoot them face to face
You are meat; let the Butcher of Age slice you more
Depth of cut, down the pit of the self-concept’s core
Hate the game; love the player whose whole world is sore
Bishops, rooks, knights, and pawns are the blind, leading sheep
Go the wind’s way; adhere to the form; take the shape
Archives we keep for posterity
Sink to archaic antiquity
Legacies fade with identities
History swallows our skeletons
Bones of old collateral damage hide in lost muck of the earth, forgotten
Any numbered body could well have died with some honor, or died a virgin
Leaves and snowflakes fall, as the dollar-bills and coins enter and leave our wallets
Leave a gentle nuisance alone; enjoy your own blessings, and curse your servants
Wallow in reputations, dealings, and roles; win points with minds who pull strings
Wrestle with brutes in shallow ideomud; steal spotlights; flex your huge grins
Sure you can render unto Caesar a T4 slip from Mammon each year
What will your adaptations prove when the real, true future leaves your past bare?
All of your gilded silver shall endure more time than your grave
Cold as the guns and bullets the police need just to be safe
Dignity, pride, and status are the 666 of the beast
Toughen your public armor when your most deep self is a ghost
Inner-strength is the weakness of all who declare war on inner-peace
Shoot reporters who ruin the news with the truth; shoot them face to face
You are meat; let the Butcher of Age slice you more
Depth of cut, down the pit of the self-concept’s core