Sitting, waiting, rotting

I’m jittering, hating, plotting

Sitting out of sight

Waiting cause I might

Rotting here tonight

Jittering muscles tight

Hating that I’m right

Plotting…here I go

I’m up, I’m out, I’m gone

Fleeing, fastly, frightened

I’m shut in, shaking shadowed

Fleeing cause they stall

Fastly like a fall

Frightened as I ball

Shut in by a wall

Shaking as I crawl

Shadowed…here I go

I’m up, I’m out, I’m over

Freedom, feeling, taking

I’m caught, pierced, stopped

Freedom that I’m out

Feeling in my gut

Taking cover, but

Caught by the shot

Pierced through the heart

Stopped…there I go

Sitting, waiting, rotting

But this time

I’m bleeding, gasping, dying

Trapeze Travesty

Lights, camera, action

A family free for all

Non-stop satisfaction

Fantastic circus ball

Frowning clowns around

Making memories

Mimes making no sounds

Acting as they please

Swinging from the ropes

Treating them like trees

Back and forth Jack goes

The art of the trapeze

High up in the sky

Off into the flight

The excitement can not die

Highlight of the night

Zing-a-thing, flip-a-dip, twirl-a-whirl

Oh crap a snap, no jolly folly,

Down jack goes

Arms and all

Jack is falling fast

Nothing went as planned

What happened now

Now with two arms in hand

A crowd full of regret

An audience left in awe

But alas Jack hits the net

Not believing what he saw

His fear begins to dim

Realizing he was the bloke

With synthetic limbs

A hilarious practical joke

The Fountain

It’s the everlasting Fountain of Euthanasia

Where the elderly gather

Gather to drown their sorrows

They line up one by one

Heads are bobbing dunk by dunk

Lack of common courtesy and respect

They are treated with neglect

There were the bearers of our generations

Dying is their final remaining sensation

Clubbing Baby Seals

They are one savvy seal sect

They’re straight out of the womb

The gang goes to the discotec

And they groove to the tunes

They are cute and they are cuddly

Furry and funny

They are drinking and dancing

Prancing and partying

They are those baby seals

Them stories are real

They stroll about with zeal

And your hearts they will steal

Their moms let them do this

Trust them at said place

Acting for fish by performing cheap tricks

But warns them come home late and I’ll bash your face

Hip-Hop Sweatshops

Welcome to a place, it’s called the game

Whether you’re young or old, it’s all the same

A place where rights are only direction

From business perspective, it’s utter perfection

I am talking about the hip-hop sweatshop

One set of rounds or we’re all going down

I’m working at a hip-hop sweatshop

The clock strikes eight and it’s time to break

Dancing, prancing, spinning and grinning

Moving, grooving, time to let loose

Working so long it’s ludicrous

Passing time by bustin’ licks

After a month, can’t even pay the rent

Slaving all day for fifty cent

Mother can’t help; I’m treated like a dog

Father paved the way as a working hog

Pushing, working fingers to the bones

Making fuzzy brushes and puffy combs

Checking that all the 12-packed socks are wrapped

And all the tubed 2-packs are capped

Seeing oxymoronic sizes like shorty-talls

Pequino-grande and biggy-smalls

Feeling a thirst I roll up to the sink

A hidden pleasure for that powdered orange drink

Wuuuuu….Tang, mmmmm delicious

It’s just like citrus but not as nutritious

Fossil

I hear you want an anthropology

A dig into my past is what you’ve done to me

So much fuss over a fossil

I’ve left my imprint

Now I just can’t leave

I’m too embedded in it all

So much pandemonium

For a like in the stratum

You think I’m scared

I’m petrified

Feels like a million years

Since I last died

You’re the chip on my shoulder

But you’ve struck down too hard

Now I’m left dislocated

A little bifurcated

A New Generation

Our eyes fixated

On the TV sets they are glued

This alludes to the fact

We are controlled by you

We’re left a nation

Where the lewd are getting sued

We get our violence form the news

Rather then the action movies once pursued

A Cupcake Mistake

A batter over powered with flour

Made for a great cupcake mistake

Errors were made, the price was paid

The stakes were grave

The baker left the place with dirty hands

Cleaning more than sixty minutes

Hence the name the shower hour

The soap was used, it felt abused

It’s gonna sue, witness pursued

It’s a rubber duck

There’s no truth in his lack of quack

That son of a bitch is sarcastic plastic

Lies were then told

He felt so bold, his story sold

On his way out he was shot

Changed to yellow from green on the scene

Right there he became a riper sniper

Then dropped his gun, started to run

To get our of the sun, it is no fun

Being a rotten banana