pills and bugs and such...

pills in a matchbox
oh, my god

bugs are eating pills, and the pills
and the pills
they are eating my stomach
and i crush those bugs with my index-finger.

bugs in a pillbox
oh, my god

and the pills will crush my soul with their crawling, and the bugs
and the bugs
they always never sleep
cause they have to stay in my dreams

me in a bugbox
oh, my god

those feelers can't feel much more, and i can't
and i can't
they trample me with their many feet
even when i'm not asleep

one frame per hour

on my silver screen
a muted trumpet plays
at one frame per hour
perfect lighting
shows how dark it really is
it is not a big deal
most of us are only extras
walk from here to there
don't drag any attention to yourself
it is easy to believe that life is a movie
but from the back row
i understand
that this show is nothing spectacular
it is only life
and life happens all the time

i hate trumpets

drip

oh yeah, magnolia
this sure looks like the dark
it is what we seek
that little sadness injection
a mournful IV-drip
self-pitying deathbed we lay on
every word bundled into a withered bouquet
drip drip drip
what runs through us is nothing new
it's donor sorrow, black
inherited muck
well i don't want it
not no more

pimp

He held it over his head
that ol' book with her worn out pages
still he preach
in his finest megaphone voice
the judgement he no longer believes
She rests in the worst motels
too many men have left their fingerprints
on her skin
He, the pimp of that whorish bible
just another Messiah rolling down interstate 80
lonely like the distance of the highway
no lightning-bolts, no desire
but at every vacancy sign
those flickering neon beacons
She waits
for the man to lose his faith