Can’t. You. See. This
havoc is all mine
No matter what you say
I choose the brush and that is why I
Paint the picture I can only paint.

I keep saying…

I won’t hate you to forget you. Not this time.
I won’t paint that picture of you. Not this time.
But what of me? Do I see? In all of the chemistry making all flesh colored
Paintings of fleeting love which is taking me across yet another.
What of me? Do I see? In all of the chemistry making all flesh colored
Paintings of fleeting love which is taking me across yet another.

Sad
portrait of me.

If we could step outside ourselves and then look past our own lens.
If we could forget about the past then we’d know where to begin.
It’s easier to me, sure
It’s easier to be sure
It’s easier to leave your
Portrait in the tube.

My History’s repeating the
Intensity so fleeting
But this time I see the
Reflection you leave is

A sad
Portrait of me.

The white of the
Fingernail I bite
Was just born when
Our love was alive
And healthy to know then.

The red of the
Bloodshot eye that cried
Was just mourning
The death of a touch
On a November morning.

I can’t stop painting
this portrait of me
And with every drop I paint
soon you will be

A sad portrait of me.

The white of the
Fingernail I bite
Was just born when
Our love was alive
And healthy to know then.

The red of the
Bloodshot eye that cried
Was just mourning
The death of a touch
On a November morning.

I can’t stop painting
this portrait of me
Hand me my paint brush
It’s time to mix

Red and Blue are
Blending into white
No matter what you see
I choose the brush and that is why I
Paint the picture I can only see.

Please hold My Hand. Don’t think yourself.

Hello there hardcore kid.
Hating the man despite what you is. Woh oh.
I don’t blame you for your hate.
It’s your nature and your way to decreate. Oh oh.

So go ahead and hate me if you want.
Cause I’m definitely not punk rock enough.
To match your strict level of politically-raged drivel
I’d hafta wear a tattoo of an anti-bush medal.

And eat only veggies and hate the top 40
And live for conspiracy and worship Michael Moore. You
Angsty angsty hate fucker, lil ole grumpy smurf who’s
Looking down at me and always wearing your trendy anti shirt.

Paint. By. Num. bers.
It’s easy to be stupid.

Never mind the man behind the curtain.
Ask not of the source or you’ll be hurtin’

Please hold my hand. Don’t think yourself.
Don’t worry child, I control your light.

Hello there religious nut—
hating so many people in the name of the good book.
Intolerance of range is a must.
No room for variety in your black and white reality.

A missionary mouthing off a visionary mission to
kill anything different from the missionary position.
It’s Adam and Eve not Adam and Steve, right?
So fuck the freaks leading their fucking different freaky lives.

Paint. By. Num. bers.
It’s easy to be stupid.

My teeth are fuzzy from a caffeine glaze.
My breath is heavy with a coffee taste.
My brain is thick with a slimy haze and this
page is black with all this wordy waste.

It’s never gonna be good enough… is it?
It never got to be what it should’ve, did it?

I stimulate the body but I never get a
perfect product to satisfy this tick.
I concentrate and try to see through cloudy eyes
But lucid targets never fall from the sky..

It’s never gonna be good enough… is it?
It’ll never get to be what it should, will it?

Why did my parents lie to me?
Did they think I’d be a star?
Mom and Dad forgive me.
This pen only goes so far.

What’s the point (why try?) It’s been done before.
Another god trying to recreate the world.
Mix in some trip-hop electro-mud-trance-pop
Dipped in metal and served up ultra hot.

It’s never gonna be good enough… is it?
It’ll never get to be what it should, will it?

Why did my parents lie to me?
Did they think I’d be a star?
Mom and Dad forgive me.
This pen only goes so far.

I’m staring, staring … in the face of change and I don’t know what it is.

The point here is to act. The goal here is to move my feet.
The question I got to ask: is which way is that one way street to the
Moon and its gravitational mass and its pull and the wolves and its 30 day loop.
I can feel its pull on the iron in my blood like radio controlled puppet strings.

I’m staring, staring … in the face of change and I don’t know what it is.

And so it happens again my friend. The tides are shifting and eating the sand.
It’s 99.99 percent on the money, measured to inch by man and his plan.
With Doppler radar and dolphin play pins, and nanotechnology and chemical microchips.
And cherry flavored Prozac, and internet love-ins, and robots with artificial intelligence.

What I’m thinking about is the future
What I’m worried about is the past.
What I’m thinking about is the fact that
We’re just walking and talking water balloons.

I’m staring, staring …. In the face of change and I don’t know what it is.

It use to be robins and sparrows.
It use to be blue birds and cardinals.
It use to be basic and simple.
It use to be so asphalt-free.

I can fit a thousand songs
In the spoiled crevice of my palm.
I can call a thousand souls as long
As I got my cell phone on.

Moving down the asphalt main vein
in this corpse that we live
Is a flock of migrating RVs
That will try to drive away. From here.

They drive down south for the winter—
old folk and people drawing disability
fleeing the climate of nature
in 20 feet of modern mobile techno luxury.

I can fit a thousand songs
In the spoiled crevice of my palm.
I can call a thousand souls as long
As I got my cell phone on.

Moving down the asphalt main vein
in this corpse that we live
Is a flock of migrating RVs
That will try to drive away. From here.

I’m going southbound in a flock
of campers and trailers.
On fresh paved roadway He walks
while we ride from ourselves.
I’m going southbound in a flock
of people who killed His world.

We’re going southbound in a flock
Of lethal drone people.
On fresh paved roadway he walks
While we feed off all his world.

Moving down the asphalt main vein
in this corpse that we live
Is a flock of migrating RVs
That will try to drive away. From

The winter snow
And the natural cold
that flows in
unchecked homes
of metal dinosaurs.

They forget the past
and embrace the last
little bit of sun
to eat before we’re gone.

There’s a gaping wound in my heart like the one between your legs.
Your gash bleeds only once a month, but mine bleeds every fucking day.
Can you believe I mistook that look for love on your face?
Love won’t fade away in a day, so it must’ve been a game.

And hey you say I may just be a crazy case?
Putting so much energy into hating a negative space.
But wait the game I played gave me the salty taste
Making me waste energy into wanting your negative space.

Sugar and spice. And everything nice, right?
You pillow fight in cute white tights
And spend the night in green and white
facial masks…

pucker up buttercup and kiss my ass..

Everyone with a vagina can kiss my ass.

There’s a period in the time-line of the male and female dance,
When the enamored male lets down his walls and falls into a trance.
Well the female says to the male in a drunken state she loves him very much
The male believes every word he heard until the girl renigs her cunt.

And hey you say I may just be a crazy case?
Putting so much energy into hating a negative space.
But wait the game I played gave me the salty taste
Making me waste energy into wanting your negative space.

Sugar and spice. And everything nice, right?
You pillow fight in cute white tights
And spend the night in green and white
facial masks…

pucker up buttercup and kiss my ass..

Everyone with a vagina can kiss my ass.

After all I did for you, I even
Gave up a bit of a body part. So
Give me back my rib,
I need it to hold up my bloody heart.

A soul
Falls into an embryo
and waits
for its chance to feel another face
and taste
the spit and the blood that comes from joining
the race…
just to see the peak or valley down
there. What will it
be? An innie or an outie
sit or stand just to
pee. What will it
grow? have a pat of butter
on your future gender roll.

What is your color? Silly rabbit, you’re assigned to your kind.
Don’t think pink you freak.
What is your problem? Silly faggot, you’re stepping on over the line.
Girls wear pink and boys wear blue.

Don’t go down the pink aisle.

Boys and girls have different sections.
Toys and clothes have defined sexes.

A boy
goes into a toy store
to find
an action figure with a gun, a truck,
and a knife.
each sold separately gives a crack-addiction
to buy
all the die-cast crap that boys are s’posed to
like. But beware,
son. There’s an aisle in the store
that doesn’t have any
guns. It’s not your
style. Pick the path you walk
so you can avoid the pink
Aisle.

What is your color? Silly rabbit, you’re assigned to your kind.
Don’t think pink you freak.
What is your problem? Silly faggot, you’re stepping on over the line.
Girls wear pink and boys wear blue… so

Don’t go down the pink aisle.

Boys and girls have different sections.
Toys and clothes have defined sexes.

The boy’s in a Sears store and thinking more—
Thinking about the color boundaries painted on the bathroom doors, and
Thinking about the social rule that regulates his fashion choice, and
thinking that he might just buy the little pink dress that he sees and
wage a gender war.

What is your color? Silly rabbit, you’re assigned to your kind.
Don’t think pink you freak.
What is your problem? Silly faggot, you’re stepping on over the line.
Girls wear pink and boys wear blue… so

Don’t go down the pink aisle.

My pride is a blow fish and you scared it.
Thanks, now I’m better than every fucking one on this planet.

With friends like you who needs an enema?
You dicked me over like it was backdoor cinema.
Did you ever think to think about not
fucking over a friend for a single night of twat.
First you saw my love glowing, then you saw my pain flowing.
A selfless friend would not have gone and fucked their friend’s love.

Hey, that’s OK… I’m a better man now.
My ego’s inflated to the size of a holy cow.
A stranger told me over an instant message conversation
The might is right. Well then I’m Conan the Barbarian.

My outlook burns all the faiths to a char,
And my god is better than yours.
Damn right he’s better than yours,
I can go on
But I’ve gone too far.

Am I serious? What? I don’t know
My tongue’s in my cheek but my head’s up my asshole.
Just so ya know I think you really blow
The you is understood in this immature hate flow.

Singing out of a key and getting off beat
Ripping off of Primus and swimming in the creek.
Living out my hubris and drinking cheap vodka
I’m bugging out wild like a drunk horny Kafka.

Hey that’s OK…. I’m still an alright guy.
Even if I can’t write or find a good rhyme to define
What a cow looks like before we see it
But I can still make fun of all those religious fanatics.

My outlook burns all the faiths to a char,
And my god is better than yours.
Damn right he’s better than yours,
I can go on
But I’ve gone too far.

A young girl of seven looks down from her heaven
upon a green field of three-leaf trees.
She pays no attention to the playground children
as she scans the clovers between her knees.

Children can be cruel. And sure, these kids are demons, they
taunt and laugh at and chastise to weaken.
But the young girl of seven continues unbroken
her search through the field of three-leaf trees.

She looks through the clovers,
for a chance four-leaf wonder.
She walks through the clovers,
but never does she discover the truth.

A young girl of sixteen looks down from her being
and shrinks under the three-leaf trees.
She pays no attention to the man on her back
as she stands an inch in the jungle of three.

He smelled of celery and pool chlorine
and happened upon her near the golf course green.
Walking in the rain from school, lost in her dreams
when the stranger fell upon her in a green field of three-leaves.

She looks through the clovers,
for a chance four-leaf wonder.
She walks through the clovers,
but never does she discover the truth.

She over looked a four-leaf clover that she over looked before.

A young girl of forty-eight looks down on the grave
of her dead father feeding the trees.
She stands at attention with a smile of celebration
as she scans his grave for a chance of four leaves.

She looks through the clovers,
for a chance four-leaf wonder.
She walks through the clovers,
but never does she discover the truth.

Walking through the food
Court all dressed in black
With a fishnet shirt
And a trench coat that
Comes to my feet all
bounded in black boots.
Zippers and stud chains
Accessorize my gloom.

Walking all around like I am dead I
walk around the mall full of dark and dread like a
Zombified loser from an Anne Rice novel
sucking on the straw of a medium Frosty.

Marilyn Manson shirt and a studded collar.
Black leather pants and a constant look of bother. I’m a
Hot Topic Gothic sporting the latest in sorrow with
Happening evil threads bought by mother and father.

I’m a mall goth, I’m a mall goth, I’m a mall goth, I’m a mall goth kid.

I’m too gloomy for Suncoast; I’m a tortured blackened soul.
So gloomy and cold.
And I’m too evil for the Gap, I’m a demented maniac.
So evil and black.

Pasty white face paint
represents my hurt.
Lipstick black as my
Soul outside Spencer’s and
J.C. Penny and
KB toy store. I
Walk around Sears to
show how deep I’m torn.

Question me question me, go on I dare you.
I’ll get all up in your face until you have to
Laugh at me and point at me for all of your clique you
Abercrombie dick and Express-dressed bitch. You

Don’t know what it’s like to be an outcast
Nail me on a cross by the Radio Shack, or
Bath and Body Works, or maybe American Eagle.
I’m all about offending all the beautiful people.

Movin’ on down the assembly line is another one-of-a-kind carbon copy
that will clot the veins of all the sheeple people Wal-Mart shoppers.

ooh look at this hand-crafted vase I bought I saved two bucks by buying it in bulk.
now I’ll give the other 9 to my friends so they can be a part of this exclusive trend.

Movin’ on down the assembly line is another one-of-a-kind carbon copy
that will clot the veins of all the sheeple people Wal-Mart shoppers.

They copy and paste the process of inverse illumination
painting within defined lines using a paint-by-numbers legend.
The colors to use are sorted and lined up in convenient plastic cups with lids that keep you
staying in the lines of righteous living while you paint a perfect picture of another’s vision

It goes:
one-green, two-blue, three-pink, for you
to dodge wasting precious thought on hues like chartreuse.
four-black, five-red and six-burnt umber.
It’s the joy of painting cookbook that cures that urge to wonder.

Paint by numbers. Wal-Mart shoppers
Paint by numbers. Big Mac lovers

Movin’ on down the assembly line is another one-of-a-kind carbon copy
that will clot the veins of all the sheeple people Wal-Mart shoppers

I painted this song with a number of right clicks
I copied and pasted guitar tracks just to write this
song about automated creation; even though I use preset software to shape this.
Bit by byte and bite on the scrollbar.
I drag and drop these phat beats, now look at me, I’m such a rock star.

Uh oh, my Atari wants to take a solo. I thought it was in the closet with my beta max?

I drag and drop these phat beats, look at me, I’m a rock star.
Rocking out with plug-ins, rounding out my sound with a 303.
I drag and drop these phat beats, now look at me, I’m a rock star.
Copying and pasting this masterpiece of thievery

Control V Control C Control V Control C.
copy and paste in another masterpiece.
Control V Control C Control V Control C.
copy and paste in another masterpiece for me.

Your art was fated before you were slated.
follow these guidelines to properly make it…

It goes:
one-green, two-blue, three-pink, for you
to dodge wasting precious thought on hues like chartreuse.
four-black, five-red and six-burnt umber.
It’s the joy of painting cookbook that cures that urge to wonder.
seven-gold, eight-grey, and nine-green-yellow
this blueprint must always be followed.

Paint by numbers. Wal-Mart shoppers
Paint by numbers. Blanket huggers.

(1 and 2 and 3 it’s easy)

I can’t refuse (yes you can) my instinct to choose (it’s built in)
a color unused (stupid man) by you trendy ewes who (like all man)
stay in the lines (no other way) while I paint the sky. (it’s still the same)
With left clicks I try (like all of them) for new hues to find. (you’re only human)

I have to undo and then redo. I’ve got to fix my past mistakes.
If only I could go back through my history and erase
like one does in Photoshop
and perfect the defects and delete all the whiny sobs.
This whole process is flawed; I’ve got to consult my inner god.
Do you hear me, my little CD?
Thou shall not by released before this deity proofreads
your content for a deviant disease
that could please this continent of mindless sheep.
But that was all said wrong.
I’ve got to undo every song.
Just an easy click of the control Z keys,
and this entire experience is gone.