start from scratch
but you never really do
get sick of brilliant ideas
the moment they are born
don’t care, change ideologies
like underwear
do reps in mind mazes
shotgun symphonies, in eye gazes
been around the block to mic drop
doing the doodoo dances
in soultrain trances
still looking for a way in
to the mass loves and the likes
so far success has eluded me
and when i meet it on the backroads
lock eyes with it and discard it
we are going different ways
you are my third person memories
constant ali shuffle of inner childs
in a world of engineers and ex files
you visit their fancy houses
no art on the walls, no record collections
no libraries no soul no depth
no pianos no guitars nothing
to make you question your sanity
no wonder the art of the modern world
has lots the virtuosic thunder
it once had and there’s no desire
to transcend your egos
just a bunch of online scams
in this toxic modern cult of positivity
political ball scratching
by the spiritually constipated
triple dragon threat of overwhelm
there’s no room for fire
when everything runs
on beetle juice.
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