Kool-Aid

GC
DG

They all going for the throat today.

Really going in for the kill.

Looks like they drank all the kool-aid.

With the vapor and the pills.

Wish we all had those wacko minds.

Like the ones they got in Spain.

Since the Santa Maria times.

They been driving our minds insane.

AmG
AmD
AmG
CDG

And we know.
We're in on the joke.
And on that note.
We know, we know, we know.

Then I woke up from an awful dream.

They were chasing me through the park.

Popped a curb and jumped a stream.

Think I lost them in the dark.

When I think about what you said.

It don't seem that way to me.

We all just a tragic mess.

Only love has made us clean.

The Color Of Blaze

Up in the night, the deep morning, before the early air cools off the lingering fall heat.  The Texas summer with a final squeeze.  There is no rest now, mind's been hacked.  Lots to take in, lots to learn, lots to know.  The National Football League is turning 100.  A century of grunting, grabbing, grounding, flying, slinging, slamming, and smashing.  Glory and defeat, success and disappointment, love and hate, peace and war, money and fame, lights and colors.

Orange, the color of blaze.
Blue, the mood for the day.
Green, it's alright and allgood.
Gold, in their neighborhood.

Sleep it off later, this session of decision.  This time of rhymes, when the rap it at its best.  The highway begins to roar, the early get an early start on the getting.  They are inspired by the days, they don't fear the nights, each having their own stories and woes and lies and sad eyes.  Each with things that make them feel safe and happy, each with expectations and aspirations.  The weary just kept going, and going.  Paying the tolls, hitting the road, go go go.

The Brat Whiners

The rats see dinner.
It's all they want.
Cowards.

But they've been busted.
Already known.
Shrinking.

Let's write the movie.
The Brat Whiners.
Losers.

Like detestables.
Trapped once again.
Stinking.

Scuz Bucket

Fool of all fools.  The most foolish.  Fooled.  Plain dumb.  Stupid.  Beyond moronic.  Really unintelligent.  Very extremely dim.  Not funny dumb, more idiotic.  The humor is undeniable, though.  Cope.  Just cope.

But, must we become dumb too?  Our intelligence eliminated.  Insulted.  Ignore the known.  The motivations are clear, fairly predictable.

The flashlight is out, the whole house will be searched.  All the nooks.  The crannies too.  Look through it all.  The scuz left over after emptying the scuz bucket is difficult to scrape off.  Bleach, gasoline, comet, steel wool, acid, it's all been tried.  Still, the scuzziest scuz remains.

The sledge hammer has done its job.  Demolition is the fun part, honestly.  The nostalgic might cry a bit early on, but quickly it turns to maniacal participation.  Dangerous swinging and leveraged stances.  Give them room, wear safety goggles.  Debris will fly, dust will go everywhere, it will cover everything.  We can clean it later.

Fools, all can agree they are fools.  Even the fools can agree they are fools, they'll agree with anything.  Like scuzzy fools.

Possibilities

We could wait for tomorrow, do it then.  That is always an option.  But, so is doing nothing.  An option all its own, and a good one in many cases.  

We should follow up, think through this and not decide.  Which is a decision all its own, and a good one in many cases.  Doors open, unhinged of their doors, in fact.  Entry ways seems a better description.  

Even peering through to make a quick assessment is fine, it's smart.  That first impression, unrehearsed especially, is a test.  It does matter.  Things get set in motion, intrigues and aspirations.

Possibilities. 

Hyperventilation

Time for the hyperventilation.
Anything, run with anything.
Speculate.
Froth from mouths.
Spittle on the set.
The nerve!
Gather the political analysts.
And experts.
They can tell us what's proper.
What can be said.
Even what should be said.
Evidently, they are brilliant.
Despite their awful record of predictions.
Keep on digging.
After all, odds are odds.
Ukrainians are Russians, right?

Back Fifty Rows

CF
CG
CF
CGC

I can't wait til I get to heaven.
Someone's got to park all the cars.
What they drive, there's just no telling.
Wonder what they drive to Mars.

And I'll be fine when they put me under.
Give all the folks a good ole folk show.
All the time in the world, it's no wonder.
It's packed on the back fifty rows.

FCx3
GFC

We tapped our toes to the beat.
We rapped our words in the heat.
We clapped our hands and breathed.
We breathed, we breathed, we breathed.

Everything is good in the hood.
Dreaming bout our life while we laze.
Our dreams are colored, yes it's true.
The wonderful lives we made.

I'm alright I'll be here tomorrow.
Tomorrow's not really a thing.
You can find me on the back fifty rows.
There's plenty of songs to sing.

We tapped our toes to the beat.
We rapped our words in the heat.
We clapped our hands and breathed.
We breathed, we breathed, we breathed.