What's it worth

Overdose in my mind,
where is my crown,
I wanna wear it til I die,

my insides around my mouth,
leave me alone here now,
I won't wake up for you,

this last show yeah,
all sould out,
I'm a headline,

golden oldies applaude,
they all know,
we wanna choose how we go

as quiet as a house

my house is infested,
infected with rodents,
the stairs to my chambers,
all the ladders and hinges,
the doorways and stairwells,
all crumble and fall,

my house is condemned,
foreclosed without date,
the colour on my walls,
the paint is flaking,
the rust and the rubble,
a dust coloured home,

my home is breaking,
it's aching through bones,
the garden is rotting,
the seeds that are sown,
my trees and my bushes,
mold and forgotten,

my home holds no hopes,
it slopes to the world,
empty eyes of glass,
a barred up mouth of wood,
my house is infested,
my home holds no hopes

deck the halls

The change and the same over time and again,
the faces and places over glasses we meet,
we're those with surprises and the obvious too,
some love and some battle just to get through,
all share and all spend generously or with guilt,
no matter though really for none of us win,
be careful with your close and keep them near,
give what you get and there's nothing to fear,

Christmas or Hanukkah or just December twenty five,
we should all just be grateful those we love are in our lives,
so until the next time we dress our evergreens,
and exchange our wealth for things we really need,
make a new years promise that's not too hard to keep,
and make sure that it is something that brings you peaceful sleep,
end of the line and the end of my rhymes,
you have to love these Christmas times

just a short one...

There is no right or wrong, only consequences ...

Water

born from the waves we're all the same,
in one motion through the even flow we came,
molded in unity but shaped by differences,
washed ashore by the hands of the ocean,

drops to drops and rain to seas,
from the same we came and there we'll meet again,

at the surface comes the light that feeds us and keeps us,
some of us are polished by the touch of life,
others wash too far and are left rough by solitude,
but all will be equal when the flood takes us home

How?

how long should I wait and how old should I get,
how many memories do I have to make and how many dreams have to die,
how many chances and how many stage lights do I have to miss before I act,
how near am I the point of no return and will I know when I reach it,
how many of my words must go un-judged and how long must my voice be silent,
how come I listen to expectations and why do I follow others,
how lonely must my heart become before it feels nothing at all,
how hollow will I be and how shallow will I allow myself to become,
how much self-deception can I stand and for how long,
how did I end up here and how will I get out,

what should I do, and most importantly....

how?

Reflections by the trains

At the feeding grounds people await their journey,
colors and class, sex and age, all blend with their common goal,
the air is thick with noise almost like the voices of waves,
the silence I exhale is eaten instantly,
the absence of sound can sporadically be found if I turn my head and my eyes,
in between these perfect strangers sits those just like me,

a distant beat breaks through all the voices,
much like the drums that kept the rowers of ancient in pace,
no one is the same here but everyone is moving at the same speed,

it's a multitude of faces in a blank crowd....

...I wonder if I stand out?