The Trials and Tribulations of being an irrecoverably jaded Rogue Christian

It’s kind of funny the way we’re wearing anchors on our shirts,
When being anchored or bored just feels more like a curse.

The shades of blue in the room are tricking time,

But there are different tones of green seeping into the veins.

First bend of the course.

And everything’s on time,

With some unintended backfires.

But no heart, no loss.

As long as the room keeps singing, that’s just the business I’m in.

Bad time to grow one too.

Almost letting go and almost going.

A quick palms up and a mistake of clamming up.

- Tell the boys where to find my body; New York eyes, Chicago thighs.-

The same old sin gets tedious, so just do another one.

This is as sober as the wind gets,

And as desperate as to suck on alkaline batteries.

Bored as a solo show can get seems to be on the schedule.

But the trailer’s going to be either a crazy viral,
Or as a street-walker passing by the bacon.

Whatever pressures up,
And whoever inside calls in sick.

This is a crucial lap,

It’ll feel like sprinting but jumping the gun hasn’t always been the best idea.

Lunar cycles are back on progress.

And the unbalanced scales are in my favour.

It’s in there.

Sorry Aleister, no Siamese-kinship for us.

Forget December.

For now, the significant 27s can’t be read.

But all in due time,

Through stars,
And hidden shrines.

Deep, blue and icy waters for the reawakenings.

Oh hallow and hailed ones get to slumber during the night,

Hollowed and holy ones lay in hay while the sun shines(congrats),

But no rest for the wicked,
And no sleep for the cunning.

Never a sober sleep.

With Tired Eyes, Tired Minds, Tired Souls, the day resets and there it is to face.

As the twilight of dawn approaches,

How many of us are in our own beds?
Or someone else is in it.

Does he know the way of the crickets that would convince me to call it a night?

Enjoy it, sometimes you lose a lot more than you bet on.

Regression: 6 months.

Opportunities call out in bedroom voices,

But Greek legends can’t hit what’s not there.

So crawl into the places of safety.

Enter the realms of mania and dementia.

Like two strangers turning into dust.

Hey, father and son are here, now for the holy ghost.

But even so, it all feels the same on the fringes of uncertainty,

Or the pin of discomfort.

- I’ll find my way but until then I’m only spinning. -

A homemade Irish,

To dull down the day.

Bodies can’t decide which feels better,

It’s like being on permanent menstrual syndrome.

Been gone more days this year than I have been home,
Trading friends for trips to the coast,
This hotel room feels more like tomb.

OK, that was a bad idea, it just gives you a headache immediately.

If anyone could figure out the tabs and what lyrics are sung during that time, I applaud you.

The aftertaste of poison is absolutely potent.

What would be nice are funnies and functioners right now.

Why do you speak of whining, irrelevancy and metaphoric drugs?

On a scale of 1-10, I’m pretty much a 7 now.

Functional when dysfunctional without an effort.

Tired and dysfunctional when trying.

Are you with me so far?

Or am I in Revelations and you’re in Genesis?

Clearly, the poison induced sleep doesn’t work very well.

It’s the other sleep I’m looking for.

When I’m home alone, I just can’t stop myself.

Add me up for another .5 in the head.

I’m on a role for living life like it’s going out of style.

Do you still joke about the kid you used to see and his jealousy?

- It’s three drinks too late to talk to anyone but myself. – The Miserable and Stunning.

Let’s double up the spin and dosages.

E: 4-2-4—-66-4-6, A: 66-4-6–66.

Exactly. Because,

A: 4th X 8 in 4 counts, open hand for the same.

The fantastic thing about technology goes for that too, but yeah, like the tabs say.

A|-2—–2——————-2/77-77-2/77-7–2—–2—|
E|—22-2–22-23-00-03-3-2-0——————-22-2—-|

Cause it’s always a party there.

And I’m still,

D A/C# Bm G A Bb Bm G D Bm G D
on funeral instruments.

My predictions are flash photography for flashing each other.

A: |————————|———————–2-4-2——-|
E: |-5555–0000–2222–0000-|-5555–4444–2222–2-4——-4-2-4-|

People with ADD tend to have that too.

E: 00000000-44444444

The lunar cycle is off, most disagreeing.

A —————-333-0——————————-|
E –5555–1-1-1-1——-3333–0000–1-1-1-1–33333333-|

And that’s specifically what will happen tonight.

Acid and poison don’t mix. Don’t try it.

Time doesn’t care about anyone or anything.

A most hazardous task to be done by this week.

Let’s digress

And pull an almost Wentz,

2 out of 3 ain’t bad.

Oh Children of the Night,
Let’s take a walk underneath this unnatural moon light,
In the spinning circumstance this would be of great delight,
But the Night Mother and Dread Father use their night eyes and know this is more than a fight.

The Father is here,

The Son is on his way,

But the Holy Ghost is only stirring from his sleep.

Oh no, this hurts, it was meant to.

Pictures of distant objects and foreign concepts.

We’re in the running of the last lap, my friends.

And I’m down to two bullets for this loaded god complex.

Plenty of time to set trends and letters to burn.

Time hasn’t told anyone else yet.

Fray upon the indecisiveness, frustrate with what escapes.

4 more till you celebrate,
24 till I perforate.

Please put the doctor on the phone cause I’m not making any sense.

I’m on the wrong bandwagon here.

Better start tricking myself to fall asleep,

Even though there’s not a word that could make you comprehend,

There’s still plenty of sheep to the slaughter to tend to,

I’m a leading man and the lies I weave are oh-so intricate.

-As soon as we hit the hospital, I know we’re gonna leave this town. – The boys who write songs for the genuinely cunning.

Last stretch of the second last lap, brothers and sisters.

No milligrams in my head tonight.

Just father’s vineyard.

Before this moon escapes my gaze,

Words and perhaps knives with laser eyes will be of a flurry.

A part is ready to plunge into the blinding light,

The night eyes will see forever into the darkness.

Another part is ready for the high.

Drink up, it’s last call, last resort but only the first mistake.

Calmers, functioners and poison, what a cocktail.

48 hours of reality this time.

Passing out to hold on.

I swallow secrets cause that’s all I can digest.

- I know it feels like we’re never coming back. – Hawthorne Heights.