The light of one thousand suns, burns your name across the morning sky. Basking in it's splendor, staggered by it's majesty, theoretical physicists laughed and cried. In a small way, I too assumed that all of you felt the same. Never mind quantum tunneling and field theory. Forget theories of electrons and positrons. There is no time for us to worry, about molecular wave functions. Did you believe that ratting out all of your friends would wipe your conscience clean? Naming names and red baiting were clever ways to restore your reputation. Burying yourself in theories of black holes and neutron stars will temporarily cover up your past's deep scars. What if colitis had taken your life? What if you had fallen in love with mineralogy? You would not have had to become death, or had to mask your regret. Instead we would read of a twentieth century Al Biruni.
one good look at your resume and it's obvious why many say, "he was a good and kind man. he was a true humanitarian." rebuilding europe one brick at a time. feeding west berliners tons of yummy food. containing communism don't mention vietnam. desegregating the armed forces, diversity. any president would kill for these accomplishments. more than likely all of that will be for not. boys and girls rarely remember what they are taught. your good deeds can never be unwritten. your true legacy might be justified by history. preparing us to destroy more completely, every productive enterprise created. expect a rain of ruin from the sky the likes of which have not been seen on this earth. these words will never let your conscience sleep as you become the destroyer of worlds. the greatest marvel the world has ever seen is scorched earth and blankets of ash. the greatest achievement of organized science in history drew the lines where angels relinquish their wings and devil's continue to do great things. crossing these lines halos and horns interchange all of the time. any president would kill for your accomplishments, except for one.
you used their faith for your political gain.told relocation was for the good of all mankind. they believed everything is in the hands of god. a god that would leave them to perish and starve. the dreams of bikinians came to an abrupt end, when operation crossroads was born from u.s. sin. the world of peace you had hoped for is global destruction starting on bikini's shores. you promised them support, you promised them protection. instead you delivered an island full of radioactive contamination. dangerous levels of strontium-90 riddled their bones with cancer. stillbirths, miscarriages, genetic abnormalities plagued generations thereafter. what did you gain as a result of their destruction? just one hundred and sixty-seven souls to haunt you forever. this was for the good of all mankind?
between mcdowell and glory, jackson stood ready to die. they'd never heard anything like the rebel yell, (their unholy cries!!) shoving them back, with drawn bayonet women and children clogged the streets all the way to the potomac. he would defend what he loved until the end capturing union guns, saving the old dominion hoping for a path to the james, and quick victory. union troops met a stonewall, took their place in history. by noon manassas was enveloped by the thick summer's heat at sun down rivers of union blood were flowing at his feet. jackson's last fight against pneumonia, was one battle he could not win. no shots fired, no charging troops, just water in his lungs he surely would have preferred to die defending his beautiful home.
people kill themselves, trying to forget loathing memories of suffering and regret. the sole reason that i live is to remember eoferwic, the smell and taste of my father's ashes, remnants of what you did. there is no place you can hide, no bastion built too tall. this murder of ravens foreshadows your downfall the norns of yggdrasil weaved our threads, the moment you burnt my father's hall i am a shape shifter, a horror of the night, sceadugengan bringing swords to dunholm to end your life. there is no place you can hide, no bastion built too tall. this murder of ravens foreshadows your downfall avenging my father's death, will lead to glory or valhall. fate cannot be cheated, it governs us to the end. its led me here to dunholm where i plan to send, kjartan the cruel to the pit of dishonored dead. my entire life is prelude to fulfilling this revenge watch your son die, his guts ravaged by dogs. you'll be lucky if i'm that quick to send you to the gods. ferocity and anger, guided heart-breaker through your spine in odin's great hall you are forever forbidden to dine.
the words i know exist, betray my tongue and lips. if my heart could write you a song, this is what it would say. there are no to words to explain, what our time has meant to me i'm sorry for abandoning what we've made i'm sorry for causing any pain i'm sorry for giving up and walking away my only regret is not asking you to come with me. i would have fought had i known how hard this would be. so there's only one thing left for me to do, i'm leaving my ghost behind to be with you. haunting all, who teach within these walls until we're together again. Haunting all who walk down these halls until we're together again. come the fourth month of the year just open your door and you will hear whispers from these walls instructing all to heed our golden tradition's call my spirit will live on, long after i am gone. when you hear tapping from the back of your room, smile, for my ghost is watching over you.
avenge mcdowell, and take bull run, stop lee and trap stonewall, leaving no retreat. pope failed the modest task that was his charge three bloody days that pushed back the union cause this is the home of heroes, and democratic ideals, where dogwoods are born through blood-soaked fields assuming retreat by jackson, and the fall of the CSA, pope proved his military prowess was that of a common clod. jackson dealt verbal lashings, while longstreet saved the day the war horse joined with stonewall, and 25,000 men, pope's army met its end. this is the home of heroes, and democratic ideals, where dogwoods are born through blood-soaked fields hidden by the veil of darkness, but not from history's eyes the cowardly retreat of union troops, was the only plan surmised. manassas was condemned to suffer, for three grizzly days. it was now lincoln's turn to end this war and free the slaves.
as sure as the wagtails nest in the autumn pear trees, cuckoos plan their return across the mediterranean sea. and when they arrive, for all who survived, poets will sing songs of our names, reputation, and our fame. led down the thames by the new light of day, the threads of my fate lead me to ludd's gate. if we survive london's broken bridge, we still face the brothers thurgilson. as the shield walls clash, the battle for london might be my last. instead of the war calm on my mind, it's on who i have left behind. when the norns decide, it's my time to die, with sword in my hand, may his valkyries carry me. if this is my final ride, tell my son of how i died; to carry on my legacy, bring pride to our family avenge my death! these battles that i wage, and souls that i claim, are all for a kingdom not my own. haunted by those who have fallen by my sword, until we meet again in the feasting hall of the dead. when my sword song sings for the last time and ravens call for me, (my) hammer amulet tells of my future company. but for my son that carries on, inspiring your own poet's song, carve out your own path through life, follow none and lead with might. for my son that carries on, inspire your own poet's song, carve out your own path through life, follow none and lead with might. create your own legacy, bring pride to your family. the threads of your fate will lead you to valhalla's gate.
church bells ring, sounding the alarm. alerting all of wasp-sting's wrath. my demon prow on the horizon, leaving nothing but death in my path. i am the dead swordsman, carving a bloody prose. the three spinners have spun my fate, along with all who oppose. i will return to claim my seat upon the throne of bebbanburg. serpents-breath guided by odin, sending Aelfric to niflheim. and i will fulfill my blood feud revenge. pray to your holy corpses and kiss their lifeless hands. pray they grant you a quick death, before i come to reclaim my land.
a shield wall, a black horde, the program of the day. honor sworn, swords drawn, a battle cry breaks the day. a sea of broken bodies and cries lost in the noise. we ride to death and glory, we recognize our choice. i see my brothers who ride with me. i'll die like father, fighting bravely. bright fire. dark runes. i swore i'd die with honor, but never knew the time. now i'm looking to the gods to give me a sign. my wife and child both waiting for me to return anew. i'll see them in valhalla, as a short sword runs me through. i see my brothers who ride with me. i'll die like father, fighting bravely. bright fire. dark runes. i see my brothers who died with honor. i see my father welcoming me.
A cover of Manowar's Secrets of Steel and Blood of My Enemies
up until this point my whole life has been a dream. a free formed delusion based on tapes full of our memories. as our hands interlock you ask me, "what is it that i want?" the only thing I have ever wanted is to be myself again. your best friend said that I was dead, tortured to death by cohagen. as it turns out it was only a schizoid embolism. every night bares witness to the horror. side by side. hand in hand. you and i on the cliffs of mars. it all seems so impossible. unbelievable to me. i can pull this trigger and it won't make a bit of difference if this is a dream. you better kiss me quick before we both wake up. start the reactor. spread your wings. blue skies await us. it all flashes red, my nightmare starts to unfold again. falling to my doom. faceplate smashed, my eyes start to protrude. my lungs explode in my chest, gasping for one last breath. your hand just beyond my reach, as you ask me, "what is it that i want?" all i want is to be myself again. all i want is to be myself again. start the reactor. spread your wings. blues skies await us.
rivers choked with dead and spent shotgun shells. drowned by lies, blame, and what was never said. our future is nothing but old photos. documented decay as we turn into shadows. crack open my skull and feast on the goo inside. this ruin surrounding me symbolizes all that's died. there is nothing left here for you or for me. every reason to live is distant memory. ride out with me, ball-peen hammers in our hands. it's too late for us, time to face the morning light. i carry voices with me that will never leave my mind. i will take their cries to the grave. with no emotions inside. without sleep as a haven to hide. bereft of any will to survive. this is the day hope has died. this blade is my only salvation as it gently kisses my wrist.
my dreams never died. nor my fears. forever entwined like laughter and tears. dense barriers keeping them out of plain view. impenetrable until there was you. the monsters that rise from the grave are nothing compared to the ones we carry in our hearts. these ghosts make us feel as if we need their daily haunt. giving up this ghost is all that we ever wanted. miss after miss has led me to this window, on the seventh floor with the most beautiful view of sparse pines covered by falling snows let me know nothing ever happens as it should but as it must. i finally caught up with the setting sun. rebuilding all that has come undone. these silver wings cut right through the cloudy sky. there is no better time for me to die. hundreds of pens turned into thousands of pages. all of which now line the walls surrounding my heart. suffocated for so long, tortured and bruised. it starts to beat again because of you. pillars of heaven shake with each clenched fist that meets your hips. and my knees quake at the thought of our molding lips. i have spent so much time running away. i never imagined i was running towards right where i belong.
if all the words we felt at night were spoken in the morning, would 3 am come again? what disinclines me from speaking my mind is the thought that when all has been said, the survivors would envy the dead. so i'll just fade into those voices howling for your favor with the congregation. addressing your empty sky, i'll be praying. and i think benedict arnold would know exactly what i am saying. that at times like these you seem just like robert e. lee. a patriot defending his own country. so this union must fall. this union must fall. when at 3 am i pray for me and krusty to win the super bowl on the statue of liberty play. or test taking in underwear. or falling without end- is what i'd rather be dreaming than singing this song to nobody. cause at times like these you seem just like robert e. lee. a patriot defending his own country. but no less of an enemy to me. and i think old ben franklin would agree that this bolt of lightning obliterated me. it's plain for benedict arnold to see that this union must fall. and the memory of all the tips of you brushing me. but we obeyed benedict's decree that this union must fall. this union must fall. and to think that old ben franklin couldn't see that bolt of lightning obliterated me. it should be plain to see that this union must fall.
you take double what your shit is worth and don't give shit back. i want to thank you for sending my grandkids to and early watery grave. your CO gases make my lungs bleed. you suck this world dry, leaving us here to die.
THE HELL OF BEING CUT TO PIECES if you ever find yourself being cut to peices, there's little doubt you've happened upon the hell of being cut to peices. your bloody bits fall to the floor, your life's final journey. there's little doubt you've happened upon th ehell of being cut to peices. THE HELL OF THE HOLY DRAGON if you think you can enter the hell of the holy dragon and leave without being completely obliterated, you've obviously gone mad. the hell of the holy dragon is where you are soon to end up. a shotgun blows your head clean off. if you've ever witnessed silver wings blocking the moonlight or heard the beat of a cold black heart pounding in the night, and the snowdrifts are too deep to run. the hell of the holy dragon is where you are soon to end up. a shotgun blows your head clean off. THE HELL OF THE UPSIDE DOWN SINNERS bloody corpses hanging as far as the eye can see. those poor fucking bastards. they took thier secrets to their graves, secrets the chinese know. secrets whispered with severed lips, on inverted torn out tongues. THE HELL OF BOILING OIL if you ever see characters of the chinese tongue on the door through which you pass, it may be into the hell of boiling oil and that day will be your last. THE HELL OF BEING SKINNED ALIVE if you're ever caught in the hell of being skinned alive, you will be skinned alive.it's just that simple.
You place Value on my Life, I place Your Throat on my Knife
A cover of Iron Maiden's 'Prowler'. Can be found on Maiden's 1980 self-titled release.
A cover of Ozzy Osbourne's 'Mr. Crowley'. Can be found on Ozzy's 1980 release titled Blizzard of Ozz.
broken bodies, all around me. all i can see are shattered bones and dead souls. death's cast shadow is all i can see. all that's left worth living for is the taste of your blood.
there's no denying that edison's wife was a strumpet. as she stares at his hair she stares at me. he hopes to one day be guillotined. all the lightbulbs in the world cannot outshine that look in her eye. nevermind his feelings. nevermind his brilliance. nevermind the tungsten filaments. there's no doubt she owed money all over town. buying his LPs was all she was good for. not a single one of edison's 7 inches spun on her table. all the vinyl in edison's crate could not break through her laugh or touch her phonograph. he lived for her. every record spun love songs for her. for him the light bulb's only function was to light up her eyes when the sun had gone to sleep.
i'm losing sight of those days i loved. everyone waves goodbye, off to give new things a try. pulled by the thoughts that we are taught, and killing what comes naturally. all my friends leave me behind, as i bask in my immaturity. our pearly gates have turned to gold, these desires all new to me. shiny visions make us grow old, i don't think i want to see this brave new world appearing dissolving everything. once precious now burdening. i want the sun to shine on me freely. i want the clouds to roll on by me. you are miles away, these pictures of you and me running my fingers across draws the only feelings. we are programmed to give up, we let ourseleves die inside leaving nothing but marriage and unsaid goodbyes. i want it back. all that this life is stealing from my memory. moments condemned to memory, while strangers stare smiling. both strangers before me. since the beginning of time man has dreampt of destroying the sun.
and the clouds will have their way past lincoln's birthday and all the paper hearts that we exchange. all the crayon outlines of a world we'll never have. a construction paper epitaph. for all the promises we make just fade away. and the stinging of my skin as the spring sun melts the snows that cover me. all the girls of my dreams get off on 86th street and so it seems that all the guys like me live on 96th, dreaming of a world we never had. we failed to emancipate these feelings. and the proximity to his birthday doesn't change a thing. his dream is just a fading memory. winter steals my warmth, gives my breath shape. just likshedid all those cold days in february. covered with paper hearts and snow it is so easy to forget his birthday marks a promise never kept. your winter wonderland i call a cold day in hell, where the snows disguise where we stand. this cold day in hell i pray for the burning sun to fade it all away.
my mom says that i'm the handsomest guy in the fourth grade. but i'm in love with a girl two years younger than me. i love her little orange dress, spiky hair, and pearl necklace. but she's got a guy and i just can't cope, he stole her heart and microscope. so i try another day, bereft of any way to bring you to me. through these glasses everyday it is getting clearer to see a big sister is all i'll be. lisa won't you please pick me. despite my homosexual tendencies. i'll ask you underneath the lemon tree. lisa please pick me. he's an enigma, wrapped in a riddle, all wrapped up in a little vest. that's alright i guess. but in this world you'll never know which way this crazy ball's gonna go. gotta hope you're coming back to me. so i awake to another day, so far from fourth grade. my mind wanders to another name that you have put in front of me. lisa please pick me. my dad's a big wheel down at the cracker factory. i'll ask you underneath the lemon tree. samantha didn't mean anything to me. i was walking my dog, she was coming back from a night with him. i asked her who the next would be. she said that it could be anyone, we would just have to wait and see. all filled with black stuff and slim jims, he doesn't know that you are a vegetarian. i could explode when i see him. he broke my glasses on two ocassions. you can't see me because i wear camouflage. i can't hear you because my ears are packed with gauze.
i can't see you, even so close to me. but that's how you want it to be. you make the jungle come alive in me. though you are the one who is camouflaged, you cannot see. that you make the jungle come alive in me. i'd gladly give up my skin if you'd only let me in. i'd gladly give up my skin if you'd only let me into you. only in the hottest of years have you appeared. as this year grows older, it is getting hotter than ever before. i lbleed. you can kill me.
how does it feel to want? what we possess in turn possesses us. organized religion has become obsolete. heaven is no longer our goal as we seek to construct heaven on earth. perhaps we should beat each other sensless- we might be better off. shadows fall on the sunniest days that our want invades. everything i own screams who is to blame. a vengeful god no longer controls us. the urge to buy keeps us all in line. we all kneel before this idol. we all read this common scripture, and its angels lie dead, throats slit by the demons gestating within us since our incestuous inception. we are products of our own shit. the only man who can end this atrocity is abraham lincoln, unfortunately a bullet entered his mind before the thought ever could. harding had a chance but a fatal strand of the clap acquired from one of his many whores cut his life tragically short.