Indegenous Vice

The green murky water reflects the bog and rocks.
Wouldn’t you love to come get a shock.
A treatment that no one seems to be able to unlock.
Who has the key to the mystery, is it the whispering voice of flattery?
The man in the moon he always talks to me.
I’m not talking about organized churches
Soaring birds so high they can see the tops of bridges.
Love lost, always comes at a cost.
No man plays the game, without one day pointing the blame
On himself.

Tonight there is a dark dreary melody
Tonight there is something inside of me.
Its grasping at the strings, my poor wings.
Bloodied and boiling, vehemence and vomiting,
One can recall a young man’s cliff diving,
jumping into the unknown with nothing but the wind flowing
past his head.
The thought of landing dead rushes through his thoughts
The water at the bottom is lost
wondering why his body was tossed.
Until the great flow of life comes to catch us
the cliff diver places his hands together
as he slips into a liquid lust
his fingers surrounded by the laws of life
His body tingles from the indigenous vice
Its all to much for those of us,
its all to much for those who hate us.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s