beat by shadowville engineering/lyrics/performance by stolli

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Thomas Hardy; Robert Burns; Edgar Allan Poe; Elizabeth Barrett Browning; Emily Dickinson; Lord Byron; John Keats
Robert Frost; Lewis Carroll; Robert Burns; ; Samuel Taylor Coleridge
sarah teasdale, william wordsworth....everything spinnin upside down..lets go inside


inate maddness sits down with a stack of quills
ink spilled but he still so white and empty
he fight what he feels with a stack of pills
cuz the soft white light just seems so tempting
its how it happens, right? like he just writes
from his mouth, but what he thinks doesnt match
what his hand puts out
cuz in his ink is a shout, its a simple pleasure
the mistique of his age, when he hears the weather like

he writes writes writes writes till ther eaint no light
and then he might be alright,
write write write write write till he cannot fight
but hes alive when he...

and right now, hes prolly close to dying
he just drank to the floor and he feels like crying
and he still takes more, cuz its just like flying
with his back to the door and his eyes to zion
yeah............ his flight is death defying
more afraid of the future then an ancient mayan
yeah..he needs a drink to guide him
and he lives on the brink on an insane asylum

god-like, finite, twilight-dreamin
when the times right he might start believein
but hes phazed cuz hes seen it, the devils zenith
and he feels all he needs is the tear of pheonix
so he writes hellish scenes like his hell is scenice
and his quil is a genious, he cant believe it
and he cant forsee it, as he builds his cage
trasforming the humming to a sheet, a page he says


he writes writes writes writes till ther eaint no light
and then he might be alright,
write write write write write till he cannot fight
but hes alive when he...

speaks to a crowd and hes not diminshed
he chokes from the joy and he cannot finished
for many minutes hes in it, and sees the day
but common rhetoric cant say what he needs to say
hes like a child that cant move but he wants play
trapped in a glass coffine inside the wake
sintamental, which means gay, in the eyes of fame
a savant of his time but they call him lame
his mind state, is so currupt so aimless
but the voice in his head is strong and painless
that tells him laugh at the weak and brainless
your that one good soul, so true and stainless