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Kill the ShepherdFolded hands in proper laps,
Wait for the speaker to conclude.
Rumbling audience and roaring claps,
Or silence, when verbally nude.
Exposing thoughts once locked up,
Truthful and too dangerous to touch.
Venom poured into a paper cup.
Or so, they will tell you as much.
Forge a word, hammer it down.
Display your fabricated passion.
Hear their cheers shake the ground.
Then exit the place in an orderly fashion.
A mask of words and costume designed,
Sheep are so easy to beguile.
Subtle promises seemingly benign,
Grow malignant after a while.
But an honest man is a quiet man.
Spotlights seem to elude him.
Microphones taken from his hand,
The media will only exclude him.
It is the unplugged words spoke,
So quiet they’re barely heard,
And then gone like a wisp of smoke,
That are the very best for the herd.
Sometimes it takes a wolf’s howl,
To stir the minds of wandering sheep.
The shepherd dead and wolf obeyed now will,
Shake them from an ignorant sleep.
Lifestyles of the Broke and Nameless.They look down at you from their pillars.
Stone canopies full of the colorful and gilded.
“You can’t come up here, you’re not the right kind.”
“Stay on the ground, no sun for the wilted.”
They stand on you. They live so high.
On the broken backs of the working class.
Hold them up, work til you break for a shot.
To climb up too and sit on your ass.
We hold these truths to be self-evident,
But denied to those south of the canopy.
That all men are created equal,
And have the right to be happy.
Something is terribly wrong here.
Where the spoils go to the spoiled.
A lifetime spent on the ground,
A lifetime spent on the work toiled.
Never enough to get to school,
Never enough to afford to retire.
Barely enough to window shop.
Barely enough to even aspire.
From the pillars, they look down.
As the pillars break and the broken stand.
Since all men are created equal,
Let them join us here on the land.
StalagmitesCrooked carnival mirrors,
line the side of the street.
Distorting all the people into,
Something that looks like defeat.
Store front windows beckon,
Flocks of sheep cheer a reply,
Students of a passionless class,
Learning only how to get by.
The world of stability drips down,
On the head of the broken right.
Sediment of greed and comfort,
Build them all into stalagmites.
Children have the joy beaten out,
Their heads dripped onto by they,
Who would tell them they’re nothing,
And turn all of their color to gray.
Sit at the desk and repeat after me,
We’ll do anything for some security.
We’ll abandon all of our pure passions,
And let wrong be the name of obscurity.
Cut your hair and fix your tie,
Before you head to your computer chair,
Click the keys and collect your pay,
Something else? Don’t you dare.
The pursuit of happiness is a right,
Left broken on the cavern floor.
And the world grows darker still,
As the sediment keeps score.
Choose life for realistic dreams
Hello, hello, helloHello, hello, hello.
Is that you behind the door?
I haven't known you round this way,
since many years before.
Hello, hello, hello.
I can hear you by the sink.
I'd offer you a cup of tea,
if you had lips to drink.
Hello, hello, hello.
I thought you might drop by.
You always loved these barn-storm nights,
when lightning cracks the sky.
Hello, again, hello.
In the draft I feel your touch.
It does me good to know you're near,
and hurts me just as much.
Hello, my dear, hello.
We shared such postcard bliss.
It cracked like lightning on that night.
A dark night just like this.
Hello, a soft hello.
A nothing sort of fight.
I dashed a plate against the wall.
You stormed into the night.
Hello, my love, hello.
I hoped that you'd come back.
By wind-blown door I kept my watch,
and felt my still heart crack.
Hello, a long hello.
The years have left their mark.
My hands are cold; my eyes grow weak.
I'm left here in the dark.
Sit down and say hello.
I'll go pour that cup of tea.
I haven't lo
Let Venom LieMore than I could bother to resist.
Though I know how it ends, I begin.
Break each promise off my list.
Bleach and menthol can't clean away my sin.
If I calcify, then what is left?
Polluted vessels itching ever more;
A poisoned, bloated soul bereft;
Each last shred of the self I deplore.
I would break my bones to slake a thirst
Bubbling back stronger with every snap.
Fighting off screams before I burst.
Brick myself in with my own sweet trap.
Each line I spin will sing tomorrow -
Sell it like silver and watch it grow.
Lies can tarnish just like sorrow
Becoming the secrets my parents need to know.
CluesI’ll give you clues
They’ll be there
It’s your choice
Or to ignore
I gave you clues
They were there
And now they’re gone
But I saw none!
Instrumental nothingnessCapitalizing on the fears you hold inside so close
The ones you try to hide and run away from the most
From fake façades to false fronts the walls built so high
The entire world sees teary waters collect in reddish eyes
A sleeve is often meant to cover certain tender flesh
Yet this is where passions lay displayed for all the rest
It should be effortless to control a part of you
But why is it so difficult when emotions go askew
I know logic is folly and that I am no machine
So how does one control a fiery love lined passions unseen
Writer's BlockTick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
That's the sound of my writer's block.
If only inspiration would heed my call,
Rather than mocking like this clock on my wall.
Instead, my muse is supplying the bricks -
Insomnia's my mortar, and it's laid on thick.
My thoughts are scattered, incentive's lacking.
Imagination a foundation (no wonder it's cracking).
I'm not sure what happened, where it went awry
Hell, even my amontillado's run dry.
Each fresh idea, like my air, is soon running out,
And in its space, replaced, is nothing but doubt.
The clock continues, reminding with dismal account
That I, unlike he, cannot make the seconds count.
Everything I've done, all my work here is wasted.
I'm no writer, and it's time that I faced it.
At least, that's what the clock would have me say,
As it feeds what it needs; but much to its dismay
I'm not fully beaten. I've been here before,
Which is where I learned - every wall has a door.
LibertineI could feel sky rising from an empty
corner, the lifted skin on my arms in
muddled pattern drift to the open sea.
Moral assumed and cursed what looked like sin,
but without this expression I’d be done.
Would you rather squashed shells of men on floors?
I bet you would. Would sooner shove and shun
than take another look and try new doors.
Romp and run to free dance over quicksand,
showing the far better side of living;
on the other end suppression disbands.
Feel it cup your centre, see it flying.
If I feel like setting myself on fire,
I’ll do so without the world’s desire.
In times of dark and despair,
In times of test and trouble,
I refuse to be in this bloody rubble.
I have much at stake,
that is up to take,
and slide in the Devil's wake.
For my friends sake,
I will fight on.
Because he is worthy of this par take,
above my grave, the bloody lake.
Mind in Madnesscan you see what coils inside?
behind these sleepless, weary eyes?
a chaos, i cannot abide
yet within my thoughts it lies.
A drum beat or a lambent cord
pulsing deep inside my skull
i pray my sense to be restored
yet the drum beats never dull
Swirling, like a vortex storm
ceasing not, its twisting ways
again i pray, for lucid form
and wait for brighter days
such a mind, in madness caught
beseeching, clarity to come
yet all my prayers i know are naught
this inner tumult leaves me numb
FreakI love the burning of bitter frost my bare flesh.
I hate the haze of a summer's sun on my back.
The sound of a harp does nothing but piss me off.
And I love the smell of a charring forest turning black.
Am I a freak of nature or just a natural freak?
Do I see you staring at me or am I staring at you?
What does it matter to you what I do with my life?
What kind of damage to you could my opinions do?
I want to spit acid in the eyes of every deceiver.
Everyone who says "How are you?" and doesn't mean it.
And to those vanilla liars, I am their hell's receiver.
And I will punish them whatever way that I see fit.
You don't care about me, you're just doing what's expected.
You follow the rules and can't handle anything bizarre.
Ask "How are you?" and I'll tell you "I don't know."
And you can't respond just because that's how you are.
You and the ignorant will get what's coming soon.
And it will make you all rethink your social position.
Do you smile because you're happy or because we want it?
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More