ALIEN ARCHETYPE
at the birth of each morning
i keep forgetting
the smell of the warm nuclear air
i live in a town, where you cant sing a thing
THEY watch what you think
the tourists are painted red
ironically dubbed
an alien summer
collected like trophies
for the elites back home
of all the crude zealots
who spit in their ears
they please themselves
by locking up dreamers
OUR SIDE, THEIR SIDE
OUTSIDE, ON FIRE
i wish they could tone down
on all their corporate slang
late at night when i'm drowning
a tone-death board
the beautiful news strip
they show me the world
as i'd like to see it
I'll tell all my friends
that we don’t exist here
they won’t believe me
i IMMEDIATELY REGRET
STAYING AWAKE HERE
they think THAT i’ve lost it completely
and when they’re gone
i'll be alone
and all that could’ve been
will always exist here
our side, their side
OUTSIDE, ON FIRE