Wordieword’s Weblog

Kadaffi will soon be changing locales. The deserts of Lybia are tight, but http://www.sasheto.com is better.

there ain’t nobody left for me
what can be said can be replaced
what about those younger than
we barely make it anyway
I worry for the next decade
they have less time to understand
please oh lord help me find
and I rarely think of them
to say that society is what made them be that way
that in their loneliness they forget their ways
they did their thing in the park
they were the type of motherfucker that were misled
Id be no better than a stupid kid
oh so many here have passed
but assuming that I did
understand and you will see
do what is completely right
I hope one day I will be replaced
in the minds of those with haste
and save my people from this blight
and then then there will be justice paced
and time itself is powerless to tell
I hate no one but those out here
that make a profit out the suffereing
of children that they once helped bring
the tower is the medium
for what is outside the bell
by laws higher than those of space
the body is where all begun
and how else but rhyme should I tonight.
my own way so that I might
passed have they and they have laughed
but sound and light will bring the word to sight
into the world we all must love
If you can tell, please do share
but spend so little time thinking of
out so loud that in my mind
no time to play these games
all I see are men so blind
those weeping willow songs they had begun
trees so sweeping, sweetly sung
and I don’t know when i will return
and made even the kittens bark
that we need not remember those boys and girls
are we such a little world
they take my heart unto a high mountain
never back, never frightened
so let it be the way it was
before these times of powdered stuff
that kills you with the lust you sought
that rots you in your very thoughts
so please children understand
the words of this not so simple man
that time has passed but nothing has changed
my people here slaves remain.

Ahh, the smell of gunpowder in the morning. New years, new enemies, maybe a new wife or two, shit is real. Of course, due to health issues, I can no longer be involved with the struggle in the physical form. I drop bombs with my pen.

Damn kids and _their_ bombs, wasting precious explosives for celebrations when they could be killing the enemy with divine justice… Tisk, tisk.

I, “sweet heat” Kadaffi, have no doubt that the kids should be put to sleep. With the sweet song of ideology, that is. Peep.

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Listen to my soft words dripping like water drops drip on mushrooms in your dusty basement i try to avoid the hesitation for it kills like madmen’s ills spread over the air in sonic bursts, deadlier than sars, this mental thirst for total domination over the hearts and minds of listeners of radio stations, huddled around grandma’s new IBM, collecting information, the enemy is close but you cannot hear him, though your eyes, ears, nose and skin strain and fear him, taking puppy steps and breathing tiger’s breaths narrow are the clefts that tear your consciousness, each of my words is poisonous, but I have the remedy, listen to my melody, the trance is induced with pied piper’s plans, I rip through walls with what the forces demand, and the forces that be, they occupy me, voices that reach beyond the pale horizon of the sea control the actions of my body like strings on a doll, like silly putty I become the morpheous one, groovy as the sun, bitches run, bitches cum, all in the name of the holy one, twisted thought patterns, dreams of blood splatters, strange whispers in the silent halls of alma maters, the clock tower rings eleven and I am asleep, wake up at two, and work for a week, the cravings are deep, the drugs seem weak, let there be light, and Kadaffi will seek salvation in feet halfway in the grave, because one thing is certain, so children behave, elicit responses from those who you detest, elicit them with the due righteousness, for there is time enough for time to last, but once it is has past, only memories gasp, while you witness with terror the ways of your error and hope for the day when you will owe less than today, making your payments day after day, minimum wage leads thoughts astray, thinking it pays to be the simple man, breaking it down so all understand, feeling the lender’s breath on your neck, hot enough to have you burnt to a crisp, the stress is having you lisp, reach for the bottle, pour it all out, back to the table, work it all out, more work to do, hours to go through, the struggle continues for me and for you.
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