Evil Poetry

Deep Water - I Walked - Years in the Desert - A Good Daddy - Grandpa in Church - Rum's Venture - Life as Cog - Toaster Waffle


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The deep water is always calling
and it is often blessed to take this dive.
but every so often come up to the shore
wade through the shallows and be alive.

Diving deep into the world
finding a purpose, a way can be heavy
bearing the soul in a cage of lead,
it's weary and lost amongst the ready.

You have crowned yourself a fine sage
and seek the wisdom of words and raves
but it's nice to just stand upright in the water
and not fight the roaring waves.

Floundering in the sea of philosophy aches
and grinds the bones and steals the air
play in the sand with the children and birds
be light for a change for the deep
 will always be there.
 


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I walked six miles to the library
looked up volumes on suicide and gardening,
photography and larvae.
I still don't see the point, hope has fallen
and I waste time.

I walked back six miles to my home
looked at faces where love just barely holds
painfully hanging there
I still don't see the purpose, or the calling
for writing rhyme.

I walked until blisters covered my feet
until welts haunted my brooding mind
lustfully gripping to my fears
I can't hold on to care, I again am falling
from my blue line.

I walked to free my mind from worries
but I only created a vacuum in my life
and I seek the pay off
A burden this rich with despair is calling
and calling my mind.
 


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I wish for years in the desert
though I haven't been there forever
Where the air is dry and pleasant
and where flows the visions river

I seek the warm sand of the East
to open up my silent moldy heart
and release a pal, a sacred beast
that feeds my soul and quenches art

But the rains that suppress me
have a devoted and ardent grip
so I cry, yell, struggle and plea
I'm a  old fish with a hook in my lip

She needs to stay here, so she says
I feel she's stuck here in the muck
and hovers around aimlessly
and prays to nicotine and luck

I'm robbing her of what she needs
teenage boys, shoes and hemp
and all her little rainy deeds
I walk in circles, circles with a limp

Because I have one foot in the desert
though I haven't been there forever
to dry the mildew from my soul
and swim along the visions river.
 


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Why we need another why?
why another has to die?
We came looking for answers
questions in our dreams

We were seeking our tortures
releasing our screams.
We wanted to wake up
from our haunting years
We wanted to be fucked up
through our burning tears.

But we lost the burning passion
and a good daddy's gone
Gone out in rock n roll fashion
and left us all alone.

Blissful times were never had
and pain was our constant friend
We lost maps to good and bad
and we suffered 'till the bloody end.

It still rains in Aberdeen
and clouds still hover above
We had the word never seen
a generation without love
 


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Grandpa got his ass kicked in church
He didn't run, He didn't lurch
He took it like a man he did
And prayed to God to do his bid
Grandpa got his ass kicked in church
And God sat silent on His perch.
 


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My voyage with rum is just.
My venture with life is this,
A wicked ploy to test the soul.
I'm but now a soul in a virtual exam,
to see if the human is fit to be a man.

 I the serpent with arms and legs
 At the grasp of drug and keg
 At vice and evil, good and joy
 test not girl but the life of boy.

My venture with life is this.
With exposure at the wrist.
I have a choice to take.
A mouse in a spinning wheel.

With a one door out
Out of life, out of real, on reel.  
A clip from the bout.
a jest from the clip     
 


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I'm a robot in a next generation
A cog in a machine for masturbation.
Throwing virtue to strife and vise verse
Being me isn't bad it is not even worst.

I don't see this thing called revolution
I do wish I didn't whore to institution.
Throwing wishes to hope and on and on
Being me isn't bad it is not even wrong.

But if my reality wasn't this one here
And my hell didn't comprise of moot fear
Throwing away the urge to the dog
Being me isn't bad, this null life as cog.
 


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My life is plotted out on
a pop-up toaster waffle
and my destiny clutched from a geriatric raffle.

It was all randomly planned
this spinning horror here
on the Disneyland of the damned
where the rides soak you with fear

I know too much to make it work
too little to breath, too low to care
and can't figure out my story
can't stop the crying; nor the air

But I'll keep searching, seeking
wondering why red tastes hot
I'll watch dreams drain life-blood leaking
and find a solution to this Windsor knot.
 


 
 

This document maintained by GLJ
Material Copyright © 2004 Gary Jungling