Small Deaths

I only read the sports and the obits No shit: I’ve been playing all my life Got twenty three knives, color me dead/alive Read my rights to the pastor, he said I had it backwards Zeitgeist mind, 2012 on the placard With a chip in my wrist, tell my girl I love her Join the street circus with interplanetary purpose And the market profit pundits say I’m worthless I was once worth something, everyone’s worth something Nothing is worth nothing, I’m employee of the month Got a bunch of those titles, but not enough stuff In my house, my house will never be enough Woman and man all concerned with her bust But what happens when you bust, is it worse than dying? Is it worth trying? To get connected and present My exaggerated diary of several half-events I know you know I know you know I know See, in those days, I had plenty tour action Got enough small deaths, not enough orgasms And they stabbed me from behind, covered me in black chasms Left the game with back spasms, sorry coach They painted my mother’s door with blood You can imagine my sense of unease Every clerk at work gets to talk like a thug While I only speak in legalese Can’t think not to think cause that’s still a thought Bury Mr. Roland with the things that he bought Covered with rocks or plugged to machines? I was always for an organic scene And in the end, the way we party when we’re wed Is the same way we’ll party when we’re dead Funeral scene, yeah, you know what I mean Dressed all black like Hamlet, the motherfuckin’ death set