Starfucker

Did you please the stars?
Did you give them pleasure?
How is it bedding the beautiful people?
Does it make a loud noise when you drop their names?

California is rotting your insides.
Everything that is pure is turning gray, decaying to black.
You don't want to be an empty shell girl...
Do you?

Pick a pretty face for your fun.
Pick a pure heart for your soul.
Use them both for what you want.
It's all you ever wanted.
Pure fine-toothed need.

Just don't get them crossed.
The pure heart is only pure till it's scarred.
Then there's no reverse.

The pretty face is only pretty for awhile.
Until it's faded and old.
Then there's no reverse.

You're a good actor,
From the land of actors.
It's okay though,
Your nose has been fashioned shorter so you can see past it...you're enlightened.


Enlightened with the shit that can't be filtered out of your head.
Can you even recognize Purity?
Not that it's even close to me, but that you can't.
Or that you won't.
It's a place far from here, it has escaped the poison of this place.

I burn for you, I hurt for you, I yearn for you.
Which makes me impure.
But I don't have the pretty face.
So I've been jaded. I've been touched.

Touched by the storms of decadence you brought across state lines.
Into my tranquil little world.
When you got here, you immediately started setting up your colony.
A colony of pretty faces, washed in pride, cleansed with vanity.

In the "Township of Iridescent People,"
Who meet in Vanity Hall.
They meet every now and then for sporadic orgies.
Lust, desire, immediate satisfaction.

Somehow I wandered into this town.
Without my citizenship.
I was lost, on my way to Purity.
I must have taken a wrong turn,
Went down the wrong road.

I didn't notice signs. Only sins.
I was intrigued by the toxic lights.
Sitting at the tops of stadiums and bars.
Looking over the city...with the mayor at my side.

I was given the grand tour.
I was given the keys to the city.
I was given the inoculation.
I was given the disease.

Now Purity seems forever away.
The mayor is running for re-election,
And she's using any means to gather votes for her basket.
A basket she carries on her shoulders.

Like a brilliant and classically trained politician,
She tells you the things you need to hear.
Riding the fence...
Dangling carrots in front of your face enough to keep you trotting.

What we don't know is that she does this to everyone. Every citizen.
The special treatment is not that special at all.
Maybe we do know, but refuse to acknowledge.
We turn deaf ears, because we are addicts....to this dementia.

Like a soul-confining Fourth Reich,
We follow like mindless surfs.
Nodding in elation as she casts her wisdom.
Totally drawn like a moth to a porchlight.

Somewhere I took a wrong turn.
Somewhere I lost the way to Purity.
But there is a consolation...if there exists such a paradigm...
I've wounded her....

And for the time being the Township is without her leader.
It's citizens cast about, swimming in chaos,
Trying to gather the pieces, mourning for their Majesty.
The Queen lies motionless in bed, while her generals plot her counter-attack.

Hopefully, I will be far away from the confines of this city.
Back on the road to Purity.
Where the defenses hold strong and remain impenetrable,
And those who have given control over are safely protected,
And their dreams are comforted....

Where there is no poison...

Your Crafty Beguiling

I feel sick when you're not around.
Much like the way it feels when you are.
Lost in your head,
No trails leading out.
Two fiery hearts, connected to two twisted minds.
Splinters of color,
Flaring like orbs on the 4th of July.
You call me a coward,
But I'm far from it.
It takes a hero to deal with you.
Why? Cause you want it that way.
Spinning delirious like the art-boy smile.
The color slinks and slides from my eyes.
Retreating front lines to the back of my brain.
The competition, it whines and complains.
It pines and it shames,
Like raking your knuckles across the grains.
Stepping away,
And looking ahead.
Good Lord will you grant me
Peace from my head.
Cut the cord,
Don't tow the line,
The lie,
You and I,
As it always was,
Granted it was fun.
But the bed is getting cold,
And the idea of it all is getting old.
The staleness of your touch,
Matches the disinterest in your eyes,
Accompanied by the dullness of your voice,
I see that there's no other choice.
From the perspective of a wound,
Let me heal,
Let me rejoice in the moment surreal.
Give me apathy.
Give me release.
And for the sake of all resentment,
Please give me peace.

Yeah She is Beautiful, But She Don't Mean a Thing To Me...

It's amazing finding this place again.
It still feels the same as it did last.
Last you left, you promised never to return.
But you're foolish and the foolish usually get burned.
You try, try, try, try, and you're suprised when there's letdown?
That's all there is - the letdown.
The scent of the meal still burns your nose,
The smell of the pillow still erupts every morning...taunting you.
Why be a part of the madness that's embraced?
There's no way for a couple of loners to take the place.
When your feet are planted on the ground, it's hard to jump for a rebound.
This is a crucial time.
Evil lurks around the corner and comparisons run wild.
You compare yourself to the otherwise obvious "hidden" guy.
You're not him, and you never will be.
Don't want to be.
You want other things...
Different from the others.
Different people with different faces,
Different circumstances and different places.
Your blood is in the dry soil.
Her blood is in the salt water.
There will be no more wandering fingers on the wondering phone.
There will be no more visions drawn, or pictures taken.
There will be no more whispers through vowels and syllables.
There will be no more passionate acknowledgement of symbols.
There will be no more remorse.
There will be no more love to force.
There will be no more divinity.
There will be no more interruptions.
There will be songs.
They will pierce and twist the stomach of those who hear.
You're the sediment in the bottom of the wine bottle.
You're tired of playing that part.
It breaks your heart.
There will be no more plane rides.
There will be no more tearful goodbyes.
There will be no more support.
There will be no more lies to distort.
Only those who know you will know what you are doing.
Some aren't privy to that information anymore.
Some won't care and some will ignore.
But there's a few things that they must know.
For all that is pure, the ice has started to form.
For every goodbye, I move further away.
For every meltdown, so does my feeling.
Each push on me is a shove further from you.
For every guy, there's always one more.
Every time I see this I get bored.
For every picture the desire fades.
Seeing is believing.
For every story, I have another one.
For every longing there will be less.
And for every crack of my heart you could slip on the mess.
I can promise I never felt it was what I HAD to do.
I can promise it was all by desire that lead me through.
I can promise this is the last reference to you.

I'm telling you boy, the desire is walking out, it's time to go,
And I'm telling you boy ~ this is the moment that you know.