Title art by Marko Slavjovic. Click image to visit his studio.
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Outcast “B.O.B. (Instrumental)”
Take the unrealistic and twist it into thought biscuits
If you’re feeling a touch off-balance then simply shift it
And if you’re on your last fuck then go the distance and give a shit
The rules state most implicitly that we need to toughen up
What doesn’t kill us only makes us stronger right?
That may well be but then a great deal depends on how we elect to utilize newfangled strength
Do we put up our firewalls and wait for the wet cement to set?
Or give our biceps a flex and tear these motherfuckers down?
Can we show signs of weakness or does this leave us wide open for sneak attacks, hold-ups and put downs?
If it is true that hope floats then would that be why our sorrows have a tendency to drown?
And how many smiles can you unrealistically hope to fit inside a scowling frown?
Should you throw down in a showdown then do you go down in estimations?
And who is it responsible for such scathing calculation?
Numbers may be mild diversions for crunching and such
But when all is said and done
Do they amount to much as such?
Is there a chairman of the board and are they likely to reward a clean record?
Take into consideration any choruses of discordance and act in strict accordance to their law
Is it more deplorable to ignore the inaudible or tune in, turn on, and drop out to the allegorical?
Could there be an oracle to consult and if so then what do those bastards know they ain’t telling us?
They may make compelling pitches but can we trust the shit they’re selling us?
Taking side bets on our mindsets as their minds are set on reassigning them
to better serve a society which believes it knows best
and that best says that we should go quietly
This impropriety is undeniably one of massive romp, pomp and piety
Which makes it time to draw the line and redefine then
Take the status quo and break its static flow
Give your best forward foot somewhere else to go
And if you’re on your last leg
Well then go low and grease up those elbows
The good book states implicitly that we’ll be damned if we don’t
Do the right thing and to the letter to serve our lord better
Yet the line betwixt right and wrong is as thin as it is long
And boundary is just another word they use for stringing us along
Thou shalt not this
Thou shalt not that
Thou shall not attempt auto-asphyxiation without a spotter on hand
Thou shalt make only lemonade from lemons
Thou shalt set thine sights on heaven or be prepared to pay the hefty penance
It’s a whole life sentence greykeeper transcended when we tossed our rookie badges and became bad lieutenants
Non dependant on variables as our glaring flaws are now preparing for tiaras and perfect ten scores
No point declaring war on those who made us feel ugly
As the new skin we are in doubles up and fits most snugly
Lovely to the lilies of our bones we may be
But ‘twould be silly to consider us a non-threat
As we can see the hypocrisy
The blurred lines and slurred lies
The mistruth with the chipped tooth and shifty eyes disguised as grim truth
This impropriety is undeniably one with beady eyes on our best prizes
Which is why we drew the line and redefined it
Take the man and shake him firmly by the hand
Then break this fucker’s wrist in several places
while confiscating his brand new but rather bland Rolex watch as new rules state implicitly that it is contraband
And if your best laid plans become last-ditch escape plans
Well then form a great clan like we have and make a break for it
Wait for it…
Now go ballistic
Richard Charles Stevens
Keeper of The Crimson Quill
© Copyright: Rivers of Grue™