onheroesandtombs

onheroesandtombs

Las palabras hermosas no dicen la verdad

10

590

nigra-lux

WHISTLER, James Abbott McNeill (1834–1903)

Nocturne in Black and Gold The Falling Rocket
1875
Oil on canvas
Detroit Institute of Arts
Ed. Orig. Lic. Ed.

27627

unregisteredhypercam420

Every four years the two-headed monster rises from its pit, and we have a choice between this head or that. Their party line separation is a phantasm haunting reason. It’s a choice between this diseased hand or that diseased hand. We are criminals who defy law. They are criminals who defy freedom. Endless heads of a bureaucratic hydra, and so the smiling wounds we draw across each neck. While they lounge in the decadence of their capitols and dream up new rules of social conduct, we shall sink a knife in every Caesar, we shall aim our rifles and fire at every president, every senator, every statesman. Wake up. There won’t be any change. In the sewer of capitalism, only the scum will rise.

587

onheroesandtombs

Encounter many problems in life
Dealing with a constant strife
Confidence nowhere to be found
Ability run into the ground

My future looks extremely bleak
An immediate exit I seek
Ready to take my chances with fate
Carve my name in a block of slate

Razor blades are everywhere
They’ll help me through my despair
Horizontal slashes-the wrist
Bleed, purge, my final bliss

My equilibrium is way off balance
I should be placed under surveillance
As I add to these holes in the walls
Life’s got me by the balls

Watch me as I come to grief
Writhing in my final release
Agony like you’ve never known
From this clump of dust I’m thrown

Betrayal!!!
Betrayal!!!
Deceived me
I’ll screw you all in the end