I Got the Whole World in my Head
The country lands stretching from gods hand
Reaching forth from the bottom to the top of the world
In the palm is a mixture of ordinary things
An animal here a pond there
All things to see whilst we humans stretch out our hand
Whilst in the palm maybe a book a pen a destructive bomb
But in order to understand we are all in some others palms hand
The hand of god created in order to destroy
And if we are all created in gods image
Then we are all created to destroy
Rather we must employ a girl to twirl in the wind
Throwing and blowing as her dress flutters over her head
Whilst the lead of soldiers aim to kill
And the lead of writers strive for a meal
On the pale afternoon the tornado comes
Whirling by carrying the lovers into the sky
The skies sessions of the dimensions
Alter the illumination to strengthen the omega
For its easier to say ya then do
As the spills of the sorrow insecticides
Coming forth from the neighbors
As the papers pour from the printer of the press
Showing the world his selfish stress
Whilst the riots ransack the aptitude bubbling the bubbles
Driven by the shovels clearing the way for an eternity of poems
The poems of the gutter runs from the ghetto to the city to the suburbs
Bringing forth thy independence
Behold an outlook of nights passing the sights
Here there and everywhere
Determined to make a change
Fore to arrange the ranks of the rich to find which dimends are good
And which are to be thrown away
Until a day the trash is looked at
And the poor are taken from the shelters forming ambivalent noises
The noise of the fleet coming from the street
In their cars driven by lunatics
Stirring and replacing the coins of the cents
Dropping into the cups of the poor
And the hardcore determined youths wants to create a slate
Where the resources wont be over used
As the prostitute begs for more more more money
As if it were funny that the dummy has to pay for sex
And the lovers look down on the fuckers
The fuckers always win fore the woman can sin
And love for the dove only flies
And a bad girl thrives
And good girls go to heaven
And bad girls go everywhere
And the nice guys finish last
And the fast of a hunger strike leads one to excite the fruit of the loom
And the doom of the tycoon whips and splits and the fuckers swallow or spits
And the deportation of a line marching endlessly around the town
The town as big and exciting as a scared childs frown
Whilst the crown sits atop watching every move
And every heart drops wanting to leave
But the leaves fall from a tree and stops on the ground
Only to be walked all over violated watched laughed at and taunted
To be made insane driven by obscenities shouted on the street
And the courts are filled with desperate minorities
And the writer still dreams
The dreams filled with women and eleven cars and seven houses
And when the reverend says his prayer
And the stare of the dreamer dreaming of
Seven eleven
To get to that place to find his space
To be seen and heard and change the world
Traveling planting trees for all to see
Running water into homes
Whilst the world moans
After a night of wet sticky hot sex and the text is way too real
The real deal is that everyone dreams of a town of fuckers
Where the noise of the poems are made rich by the skies hand
In the studio full of actors to be seen
But even some of them change the world
And builds three hundred homes and takes out million dollar loans
For the tones of the poet are sensereally
Wanting to be an activist an author a screen writer an actor a song writer a singer but mostly
just a Lover
(Poetry to Grow a Tree)
The country lands stretching from gods hand
Reaching forth from the bottom to the top of the world
In the palm is a mixture of ordinary things
An animal here a pond there
All things to see whilst we humans stretch out our hand
Whilst in the palm maybe a book a pen a destructive bomb
But in order to understand we are all in some others palms hand
The hand of god created in order to destroy
And if we are all created in gods image
Then we are all created to destroy
Rather we must employ a girl to twirl in the wind
Throwing and blowing as her dress flutters over her head
Whilst the lead of soldiers aim to kill
And the lead of writers strive for a meal
On the pale afternoon the tornado comes
Whirling by carrying the lovers into the sky
The skies sessions of the dimensions
Alter the illumination to strengthen the omega
For its easier to say ya then do
As the spills of the sorrow insecticides
Coming forth from the neighbors
As the papers pour from the printer of the press
Showing the world his selfish stress
Whilst the riots ransack the aptitude bubbling the bubbles
Driven by the shovels clearing the way for an eternity of poems
The poems of the gutter runs from the ghetto to the city to the suburbs
Bringing forth thy independence
Behold an outlook of nights passing the sights
Here there and everywhere
Determined to make a change
Fore to arrange the ranks of the rich to find which dimends are good
And which are to be thrown away
Until a day the trash is looked at
And the poor are taken from the shelters forming ambivalent noises
The noise of the fleet coming from the street
In their cars driven by lunatics
Stirring and replacing the coins of the cents
Dropping into the cups of the poor
And the hardcore determined youths wants to create a slate
Where the resources wont be over used
As the prostitute begs for more more more money
As if it were funny that the dummy has to pay for sex
And the lovers look down on the fuckers
The fuckers always win fore the woman can sin
And love for the dove only flies
And a bad girl thrives
And good girls go to heaven
And bad girls go everywhere
And the nice guys finish last
And the fast of a hunger strike leads one to excite the fruit of the loom
And the doom of the tycoon whips and splits and the fuckers swallow or spits
And the deportation of a line marching endlessly around the town
The town as big and exciting as a scared childs frown
Whilst the crown sits atop watching every move
And every heart drops wanting to leave
But the leaves fall from a tree and stops on the ground
Only to be walked all over violated watched laughed at and taunted
To be made insane driven by obscenities shouted on the street
And the courts are filled with desperate minorities
And the writer still dreams
The dreams filled with women and eleven cars and seven houses
And when the reverend says his prayer
And the stare of the dreamer dreaming of
Seven eleven
To get to that place to find his space
To be seen and heard and change the world
Traveling planting trees for all to see
Running water into homes
Whilst the world moans
After a night of wet sticky hot sex and the text is way too real
The real deal is that everyone dreams of a town of fuckers
Where the noise of the poems are made rich by the skies hand
In the studio full of actors to be seen
But even some of them change the world
And builds three hundred homes and takes out million dollar loans
For the tones of the poet are sensereally
Wanting to be an activist an author a screen writer an actor a song writer a singer but mostly
just a Lover
(Poetry to Grow a Tree)
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