[Stone Sour - Omega]
What a skeletal wreck of a man this is.
Translucent flesh and feeble bones,
the kind of temple where the whores and villains
try to tempt the holistic tones.
Running rampant with free thought to free form,
and the free and clear.
And the matters at hand are shelled out like lint at a laundromat,
to sift and focus on the bigger, better now.
We all have a little sin that needs venting,
virtues for the rending and laws and systems and stems
that rip from the branches of office.
Do you know what your post entails?
Do you serve a purpose or purposely serve?
Wind down inside your atavistic galore.
The value of a summer spent, and a winter earned.
For the rest of us, there is always Sunday.
The day of the week that reeks of rest, but all we do is catch our breath
so we can wade naked under the bloody pool,
and place our hand on the big black book,
to watch the knives zigzag between our aching fingers.
A vacation is a countdown, t-minus your life and counting.
Time to drag your tongue across the sugar cube,
and hope you get a taste.
What the fuck is all this for?
What the hell is going on?
I could go on and on, but let’s move on, shall we?
Say, you’re me and I’m you, and they all watch the things we do,
and like a smack of spite they threw me down the stairs,
haven’t felt like this in years,
the great magnet of malicious magnanimous refuse.
Let me go and punch me into the dead spot again.
That’s where you go when there’s no one else around,
it’s just you and there was never really anyone to begin with,
now was there?
Sanctimonious, pretentious dastardly bastards with their thumb on the pulse,
and a finger on the trigger.
Classified my ass, that’s a fucking secret and you know it.
Government is another way to say, “better than you.”
It’s like ice but no pick, a murder charge that won’t stick.
It’s a whole other world where you can smell the food,
but you can’t touch the silverware.
Heh. What luck, fascism you can vote for. Isn’t that sweet.
And we’re all gonna die someday, cause that’s the American way,
and I’ve drunk too much and said too little,
when you’re gaffer taped in the middle.
Say a prayer, save face, get yourself together and
singing See what’s happening!
I’m sorry, I could go on and on, but it’s time to move on, so…
Remember, you’re a wreck, an accident.
Forget the freak, you’re just nature.
Keep the gun oiled, and the temple cleaned.
Shit, snort and blaspheme.
Let the heads cool and the engine run.
Because in the end, everything we do, is just everything we’ve done.