Rage runs wildfire through my veins,
Surging deep, no logic to explain,
No reasons to reason out the ever-hidden whys
That manifest themselves as silent cries,
Desperate lies, sullen eyes. . . . Don't theorize,
Don't guess, don't try to make things right
Since all you'll do is make me wrong
And insist I turn Ani up and sing along.
Nice idea, but you just don't understand:
Mere music can't keep this beast in hand.

I beat woodwork to keep me sane
And you're so proud my veins don't drain
The way they used, to ease my pain.
Such fragile pride in so small a gain
Makes me hate myself for hating you
From petty subterranean spite
For the heinous crime of being right.
And yet you cannot understand:
Your love won't keep this beast in hand.

July '03

<-We Do Not Die

My Work

Paranoia and Me->