Shangri-La
I just hear bugles i just hear trumpets and horns
I am the fool a slayer of rule an androgynous clone of make believe
thought a trance, sometimes not knowing what's real as free a rational ability
I have barely cried and yet cry more everyday for the equinox of tyranny and hate
selflessness and greed, A story of Kuwan-Yin
were you the mind or the body or neither, or have you gone too fast around that bend and
do you have answers that don't end
he is not of this earth as sin does fine within a wreckless statesmen's stride,one left for homi
right for sui's, putting it all on the Ritz
fat crackers on paper plates and moving cars where there ought to be people
our savior will not be driving a beam-er
balls crushed by these crippling cars, from my first cigarette to my car stereo
aways thinking she's my girl. I'm sure i was a taxi, with loneliness my meter
look the hundreds we save foregoing the gas pumps and those
no duty fags that bust your ass
the privilege to put money into a bad deal until someone buries you at the wheel like a good
captain you go down with your hero's grip ,down with your ship
look at those campers who like nothing better than plug in they're bug zapper and radios, we
plug our brain into some machine, that spits us out in search of gold
drowned this system from it's consuming desert
decide what time forgot, before we 1st decided life was more and we have less
and lesser chance to strike, let's split on a cheap camel, it'll carry your gold
we grab what life throws, and now it takes to prolong a species cause. It knows a life so
brutally evolved, our memory could succeed where others failed,
but one, frankly it had to start with a mom a manger was as pod and the wisemen robots
Copyright © Greg Slode Smith | Year Posted 2010
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