Lucifer is one lonely beast...
he'd kill a priest... to have a feast...
and while he's simply standing tall...
the trees might fly, the skies might fall...
Slaughter your doubts! Slaughter them ALL...
he's not your father! spare your soul...
Just beat the drum, let's start a tune...
No one is hurt, we're all immune...
Your tears are dry, your fire's wet...
Yet death is not your safest bet...
defining SMS as Stopped Making Sense by fletchergull, literature
Literature
defining SMS as Stopped Making Sense
Some nights, the moon seems crystal clear
with a pinch of bloody Mary smear
you try to catch it but alas
it seems far through your steamy glass
you scream, you shout then suffocate
and cry as you reiterate
and as your soul tries hard to seep
the angels laugh, the demons weep
with a pinch of verbs from your past tense
Some nights, the moon Stops Making Sense...
Seems like the smile of yesterday...
Is now a million miles away...
Seems like the warmth has turned to ice...
And seems like winter's here to stay...
Seems like the time like grains of sand...
Is slipping through our weary hand...
Seems like we're doomed to pay the price...
And seems like we're too poor to pay...
Seems like the game of you and I...
Is clearly ending in a tie...
Seems like the gods have rolled the dice...
And seems like we're not meant to play...
I'm cold daddy, I'm cold,
my stories were not told...
I'm cold daddy, I'm cold,
my blanket has been sold...
I'm cold daddy, I'm cold,
my tune is turning old...
I'm cold daddy, I'm cold,
it's warmth I need, not gold...
the great war
is asking for an encore...
the great war
is filled with blood and gore...
the great war
is knocking on my door...
the great war
is here, and I'm no more...
You'll burn your flesh to aggravate my pain...
You'll smudge your voice to denigrate my stain...
No matter where I'll be... I'm near...
No matter how hard I'll try... you'll always be dear...
my pain has always made you sneer...
That's it... my life's not yours to smear...
I'll sow my terror to water your fears...
I'll spread my madness to harvest your tears...
No matter where you'll hide... you're dead...
No matter how fast you'll run... I'm one step ahead...
your fear is now my daily bread...
Bang Bang... that's it... you're done... you're dead...
If you could be back for a while
Then maybe I would once more smile
and maybe I would jump and scream
for I finally caught a dream
I'd wet your lips with my own tears
I'd kiss your skin, fondle your ears
I'd hug you, feel you, smell your hair
then let you leave again... I swear
I'd sing you soothing lullabies
and make you live as my soul dies
I'd even go the extra mile
if you could be back for a while...
Simon says: love me to death...
Simon says: be there for me...
Simon says: take a deep breath...
Simon says: kneel on one knee...
Simon Says: Don't say a word...
Simon Says: Handle my shit...
Simon Says: Go Fetch the bird!!!
Simon Says: Roll Over!!! SIT!!!
Simon says: now go away...
Simon says: cut me some slack...
Simon says: Just go astray...
Simon says: Never come back...
Quite a filthy game to play...
Soaked in useless words to heed...
We'll all leave at End of Day...
What a lonely life to lead...
Parasitism at its best...
Game-like shaped to lure the wise...
So allow me to suggest
Renaming it "Simon Lies"...
fletchy likes to play... by fletchergull, literature
Literature
fletchy likes to play...
what if we played a brand new game
you've never played before?
although at first you'll find it lame
I'm sure you'll soon adore...
let's play a game of sounds and screams
where silence makes one lose
and you and I on separate teams
with voices to abuse...
we'd scream and shout and even hum
but mean nothing at all
And spill out all the words that come
to our mind, to our soul
we'd howl some profanity
for everyone to hear
enjoying the insanity
and letting go of fear
we'd slay each other with remorse
with prejudice and loath
so we'd move on or go to source
yet not be torn by both...