suburbia
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I am from forgotten songs,
From distorted guitars and double bass.
I am from late night TV
(Loud, blaring
children shouldn’t be watching).
They call it the land of Suburbia,
Where I can live the rest of my days without worry.
There is no
Violence.
No thought of
War.
No one thinks,
and i can see Betelgeuse in the oil of your orbit Simon says to twist- contort; knots in throat i'd like to file a police report; don't hang up sneakers on the power linesasphalt in your arteries
A crooked frame of a picture perfect familyHangs in the hallwayWith the eyes cut outTo imitate the blindness of suburbia The family dog remains in the frameTo tell the tales of an animal
When I reach my home,
Which is surrounded by none other
Than the reach of woodland across the way,
I keep my eyes cast down
And ignore the long winding road
Trapped in a so-called paradise I'm getting high off all my sins Watching the world as it tumbles over A loss for every win
Fucked up polish, bags under my eyes, How is this my ‘so called’ life
Flags flying in the breeze free of stature, walls; boundaries
