The phone's ringing,
who the fuck's at my door?
Who's texting me?
Where's my trust?
Life set it free...
...that sly whore!
Blush with frail taint, exposed! Froze ten floors deep.
Prone for a smooth sailing escape from Life's derailed race.
Chuck shut the tailgate.
He rushed through the surrounding airspace towards the hospital.
Got a call that his pops was under the weather,
better yet, this is all comical because this treasured chronicle-
-will never begin, let alone ever be given credit for being 'logical'.
My Dad's been dead for ten years, buried in Kansas City.
I Never knew him, but I had heard that he was gritty.
So now I get a call saying last night, that this man was with me?
I told the lady on the phone that her stance was shifty,
I swear I didn't know what she was after.
Swiftly I swigged a fifth of Jim Beam and soon found the truth indeed.
Finally it hit me...
...I remembered the bar last night, talking to a drunk guy. Then this restless man-
-kept calling me 'Son', but Jack Daniels soon close lined my attention span.
I faintly remembered him complaining of chest cramps,
by then my girl was tugging my frame home by her sex glands.
I arrived to the emergency room by horse, tied it to a bench.
And yes it is 2014 just to be clear, lies are not of men.
Especially me, ahem...
...I walked in through the door, my mother was waiting,
I said, "You told me he died." She told me to "Stop complaining.
We get ten million dollars from his life insurance policy!
It will soon be ours son, no more need for committing robberies.
Finally we'll be happy, we will live in much luxury and triumph.
Life is no longer a problem, this is bliss. Son, place trust in MY love."
I didn't know what to say, so I untied the horse and galloped home.
35 miles later, I went inside and ate some scallops. Phone-
-was ringing off the hook, but I will never answer it.
I won't even check the mail 'cuz each letter is cancerous.
Apparently he disguised his mail as 'Publisher's Clearing House',
he was inferior to the tales that his love was blurred and smeared around.
He died later that evening, and I never even knew his name.
Who's to blame? His heart failed so it's a win/lose risk of a game.
Through my father's demise I'll grown into my own disguise.
A rich man with a damned soul drifting through life,
Homeless, yet wise with a blessed mind.
With ember shaded tones, we bled at speeds similiar to a snail's pace.
We all leaked adjacent flows, dressed for keeps and trust in stalemate.
No matter the attention you're seeking, tie it in knots.
Reality is a bad, stormy season. Your mind is your crop.
You must protect it from the gale forced winds of oxygen,
without it, lots of men and women will die. But who's stopping them?
Bliss comes with pain, what was once forgotten has came and went,
I will grow into my own with my father's death, with his last vein that bled.
62 hours later I was broke, about to go insane and start feeding the morgue.
I'll keep peace at the door, 'cuz life's a joke as I smile at my stallion and say...
..."I'm so hungry I could eat a horse!"