"Within a Pocketful of Dreams"
(2005ish)
There is some change that lies within a pocketful of dreams.
To coin a phrase... "it all begins upon the deepen streams."
My nose it knows which course to go.
From shallow to deep is how I row.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Eye smell the scents upon the air
As we find a new stench to wear.
It's sent from afar by some wealthy heir
Who swears he's God but has no will to care.
The musts of metal protrudes in our brains.
They meddle with false messages that drive us insane.
Down pours the lies from which they reign.
Their words of cold steel take from a society in pain.
Their worlds of propaganda display that which we most want.
Pretending to show love,
Our deepest emotions they find and they taunt.
Eye urn to set sail to the piece of a veil,
To cover our face from the clamor they hail.
But the winds, they blow images worn stale,
As they Tell-a-Vision of fantasies in grand scale.
"The weight of which will shoot you to the moon...
And if we consume our dreams will come sooooooon!!!"
And as we crave for assent...
That's what they falsely give,
A cent for us to live
And false prophets they raise to praise.
They set the sails for us to buy
But all we really want to do is fly.
We dream of the change of a new course and way,
As we wave it "good-buye" to the sales they they've set for today.
As the surfs work for sand dollars and turf,
They watch the sands of time away.
They cling to the banks where the waters run dry.
They check cash savings that they keep in an earn,
While they cap-it-al so tight their temperaments grow stern.
It's a greed that they've lost their seed
Of truth within the prophets they raise.
They prays for a raise for them to fill safe
As they climb a ladder up to the sky.
And some get hirer and some are the pyre
From which they hold the power to fire.
And those that are fired are burned down bellow
To sit on their bottom swimming in the pain that "they poor."
And still are the waters from which they sea to set sail.
What they're stuck upon isaland
Where they're free to fight, shop, and maull.
They beg for some Change to rise up in assent,
But their souls are sold...
And their soles are worn buy the loss of their innocence.
And so they tell their tales and stair straightly ahead
Not making heads or tails of their lives made N lead.
Their butts are still,
Stuck behind,
Sitting not understanding...
Why...
They're stuck bellow the Banks in the sea
While the crabs own their land.
Wading in their muddy graves they wait to be set free.
Real eyes realize
"Free" dumbs the mind to the ties that bind
For without first having slavery
There would never be the word called "free".
Nature is awake and she will not tolerate.
The children are rising to captivate.
There is some change that lies within a pocketful of dreams.
To coin a phrase... "it all begins upon the deepen streams."
My nose it knows which course to go.
From shallow to deep is how I row.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Eye smell the scents upon the air
As we find a new stench to wear.
It's sent from afar by some wealthy heir
Who swears he's God but has no will to care.
The musts of metal protrudes in our brains.
They meddle with false messages that drive us insane.
Down pours the lies from which they reign.
Their words of cold steel take from a society in pain.
Their worlds of propaganda display that which we most want.
Pretending to show love,
Our deepest emotions they find and they taunt.
Eye urn to set sail to the piece of a veil,
To cover our face from the clamor they hail.
But the winds, they blow images worn stale,
As they Tell-a-Vision of fantasies in grand scale.
"The weight of which will shoot you to the moon...
And if we consume our dreams will come sooooooon!!!"
And as we crave for assent...
That's what they falsely give,
A cent for us to live
And false prophets they raise to praise.
They set the sails for us to buy
But all we really want to do is fly.
We dream of the change of a new course and way,
As we wave it "good-buye" to the sales they they've set for today.
As the surfs work for sand dollars and turf,
They watch the sands of time away.
They cling to the banks where the waters run dry.
They check cash savings that they keep in an earn,
While they cap-it-al so tight their temperaments grow stern.
It's a greed that they've lost their seed
Of truth within the prophets they raise.
They prays for a raise for them to fill safe
As they climb a ladder up to the sky.
And some get hirer and some are the pyre
From which they hold the power to fire.
And those that are fired are burned down bellow
To sit on their bottom swimming in the pain that "they poor."
And still are the waters from which they sea to set sail.
What they're stuck upon isaland
Where they're free to fight, shop, and maull.
They beg for some Change to rise up in assent,
But their souls are sold...
And their soles are worn buy the loss of their innocence.
And so they tell their tales and stair straightly ahead
Not making heads or tails of their lives made N lead.
Their butts are still,
Stuck behind,
Sitting not understanding...
Why...
They're stuck bellow the Banks in the sea
While the crabs own their land.
Wading in their muddy graves they wait to be set free.
Real eyes realize
"Free" dumbs the mind to the ties that bind
For without first having slavery
There would never be the word called "free".
Nature is awake and she will not tolerate.
The children are rising to captivate.
