The Creature

painted rows of rivalry
I'm wrapped in emerald sheets
the watchman stops and sings a tune
arrives his riots bride in blue
my arms around the oracle,
the Creature bathed in time.

sincere and hallowed, blazing eyes
tuned to catch the western wind
white ears to hear the summer rain
black bark to scare the sun away
and blue and gray his helpless feast
the Creature out of mind.

envision sallow tainted teeth
tumultuous the terrors rise
my eyes caught up in silver
and no ear of mine can hear her
a fact that does not hinder
the Creature's carmine smile.

the beads spilled out now fill the night
mooring hate to hardened times
while difference fans the shrieking flames
kicking Rome to drop her reigns
again I kneel all bound and beaten
the Creature stands to greet me.

and through my pain and grievance
with crowns of eager eyes
the knowledge flows into my soul
that keeps me young while I am old
it ceases all the warring ants
it cries for fear of fallen man
the Creature avows my freedom.

The Path

These are lyrics to a song I wrote tonight titled, "The Path". They go to a sort of deep, pop punk tune. It is pretty short and probably to be further worked upon.


The Path --The Painted Grin

"When I was just a little boy
I shot my dad in the back.
I thought the pistol was a toy
Oh but now I know better.

Yea in my youth I was a killer
With a boyish smile, pale as winter.

When I was only six years old
I slapped my mom cross her face.
Now I just do what I'm told
And wonder if there's something better.

Oh somehow I know there is.
Somewhere beyond my window.

As I walked home the other day.
I killed five hundred people.
I wish they hadn't walked my way
Yea well they should have known better.

Oh I'm a raging psychopath.
With eyes of starving crimson.

So if you see me run away."

Salvation

A green finch perches on a pale, old limb
Singing a song of unrivaled
complexity.
He holds his head
to the sky
and tears holes in the clouds;
brings life to the flowers
with aphids
twirling lightly
on their stems.

While the pioneers venture,
as the cattlemen ride,
and the footsteps
fall hard
from the soldiers' big boots,
the smoking, hot engines
growl faster
and louder.
The owls go deaf,
the foxes lay down,
and the willows
still weep
on the golden hills.

Does the songbird take flight?
No, he sings ever louder
and all of his fellows find fury and strength.
From a forest of red comes a roar
like an earthquake,
but the grinding of tanks
sends it rustling away.

Alone the bird sits
never moving or flinching.
The metal teeth pummel him,
languid he flies
and thumps on the ground.

But reticent cherubs
float swiftly down
and kiss his bruised feet
and his cold, golden beak.
They embrace him
and hear a faint beat.
The bird opens his eyes and sings.

Vines of Fervor

How sweet the tune of an old song bird
drifting through a still, pale mourning is.
Her feathers primped and polished;
her eyes as keen as dew.
A subtle flapping of outstretched wings
takes me: beaten, bleeding, bruised, bereaved
Builds me up and feeds me till my strength returns
and overwhelms me, spilling out into the world.
Then, with gilded arms,
radiating, pulsating, and tearing apart
the melancholy airs of mistaken yesterdays,
we fit together fractured pasts,
rotten with failure, but ripe with hope.

Bold dreams embrace the rising sun;
desires cling to night.
In the space between breaths
impatience curls its green limbs
about our avidity and sews
stitches in our souls,
and we move forward
into gracious unknowns.

Zarathustra: Early Ideas

"Zarathustra"
--The Painted Grin

**These are early ideas for the lyrics of what is planned to be an epic song entitled "Zarathustra"**

Am I leading to the overman?
Are my eyes to the skies and
Is my friend resting on a limb
What's to come or what has been?

No more values can I draw from Him
Only darkness in my shame of sin
Two sides split as we all march on
Drooling nightfall or a stronger dawn.

Winds howling as the figs fall home
Whirling wildly as they wash the ground
Bursting skins and broken jaws
As my eyes turn from God.

Beat down men as they bash their beasts
Break their legs, knock out their teeth
Set fire to shelter, and the picket fence
Losing all reason after years so tense

And nothing comes on silver wings
With a wipeout smile of broken dreams
Legs of filth and hatred move the future on
Set to signature symphonies of the simple ones

No eternal soul made to linger past
As we all fall down for peaceful rest
Can your life be fulfilled with nothing new
Or does the future hide in you?

**more to come**

Prohibition (The Path to Self Destruction)

"Prohibition"
--The Painted Grin

I am a monster living in your grin,
A broken-hearted beast that dwells within.
I am a paranoid crazy man.
I am a demon bathed in blood and sand.
How do you greet me now my sacrificial lamb?

Oh, please let me gnaw it to the bone.
I've never gone hungry since you've been alone.
Your starving eyes lead right to my feast.
These are the days of the beast.

A siren's song. I'm cursed by velvet curves.
An unseen grace too strong to rest in words.
I've only met her once, just for a moment still
She broke my heart and bent my will.
How can a stranger cause such sentimental thrills?

Oh, please let me gnaw it to the bone.
These others here by my liar's chair have made a mighty throne.
Your starving eyes lead right to my feast.
Don't fear the days of the beast.

All I wanted was to tear inside your skull
To rip out all the loves that you have known
To make your heart into a blackened tart
That no queen would taste
To lay your mind and soul to waste

She's not the monster. That girl is just a face.
A fairytale fixation with her grace.
I'll try to starve the beast that's buried in my chest.
It might just take a while as his fate digests.
How can he stay inside if I give it my best?

Oh, please let me gnaw it to the bone.
I've filled your ears and drained your tears as your loneliness has grown.
Your starving eyes lead right to my feast.
Oh no, the final days of the beast.

Woe the final hours of the beast.

Toll Booth Blues

Seventy-two, thirty-five, twenty-two.

So many numbers, so many

days have gone by.

It is hard to keep track of so many

friends and symbols;

Codes and violations.

Sorry Mr.Martin,

your fingernails long and sickening.

There is no room here

for your little one

and his broken down, beat up,

scratched, sour junk.

Come back when the sun

is shining and the heat

is unbearable.

Smile and sign this

yellowed parchment.

Paint a grin on my

dull, pale face.

Flow into my mind again,

siren of the hours,

Queen of deception,

matriarch of my own destruction.

In waning light,

I saw a smile, heard a voice,

strange and inviting.

Now, an inconvenient guest

to a paranoid and cold host.

What can I say, but

Hello, destroy me now.