Rage Against The Dying Light. If They Tell You To Be Quiet, What To Do If They Are Right.

If you knew all my secrets, if I told you my dreams

You’d have such a great arsenal to weild against me

If I let myself be vulnerable to the government

who wants to hook us all on handouts and bullshit

I’d soon be inside out of this argument

with contempt for myself, no more self-respect

I’d be just another one of the worthless homeless kids

kicked out by their parents

cause they were into weird sex

If I pulled lines like the joker, in this public discourse

like, you never know someone till their last moments

and ‘knives are intimate’ – ‘do you want to know which of the friends of yours i killed were cowards’

I’d look a hero in the mirror

and find shards of glass in my entrails

I’m coming to realize

I just want you to love me

cause I haven’t let anyone touch me in years

call it sad, call it funny, it’s better than even money – another lonely asshole who needs to get laid

and I can’t even let the strippers know how i feel

cause they try to steal my never mind

I want to brag that I’ve loved angels

I want to confess all my sins

but I don’t want to be alone

and he who tells too much of the truth

starves to death on an oil slicked shore

it’s not worth it to push

when the child you swore you’d never love

is forced out of you, still born

more and more it’s the hate that keeps me moving

keeps me breathing

keeps me seething

you oughtta know, I am full of shit and not so hungry

for those enemies who want to finish

and aren’t worried about the cleanup

or what you’ll catch by sticking it to a prostituted love’s burning bush*

how I’d love to walk away from the whole thing

knock over the bank and make ourselves dictators

or queens

let these shallow fools who pay attention to such things

default on the social contract as they murder human beings

i want you to offer me the fruit

so i can bake all our greedy knowledge of good and sin

into a pie that we can serve the ingrates at a new thanksgiving

i want you to remain the childhearted lover

who tells me ‘when life hands you lemons’

and then hide behind the a bush with me, burnt out on wasting

the sour bounty of the lord,

as we chuck them hard

as passing cars

man, why you even got to do a thing

*I claim no authority but the rights of a squatting subversionist. Here I stand; I can do no other. God help me.