Good Morning

View me powerless in the face of mortal men My demi-god complex is still prevalent and relevant Experts say that sp00ks is 10 for 10 Better than he’s ever been Today’s lesson is about the functions of a red-eyed, bum-fuck, stoner making something of his talents Open your books and lets begin (It is the morning.) Wide awake yet still unconscious from the binge drinking of two nights before when I bid a thermal “Fair Winds” to my substitution family (And it’s the feeling) I can’t shake that I’m missing key ingredients to my Frog Tongue Soup Was it the frog? (Or just the tongue?) Sever ties on fridays nights Just ask the knights to use his Giant’s Knife Make a clean cut. Clear cut One motherfucker across his lateral vertices then dice him up Send him down the conveyor belt of scrambled human sushi squares (It fits him well) He was kind of a square anyway (Never went out much) He’d just stay inside and masturbate Braggadocios executioner found himself hung by the noose he tied for me I say fuck it That’s what you get for guiding men to gallows when they know they should be free Me and my fellow inmates will watch the peasant crowds cause anarchy while we light up our only cigarette and take turns puffing smoke in victory And as our evil counterparts find pleasure in women, gold, and jewelry We’re on the watch tower with flaming arrows one-by-one offing these devils so we can send their corpses as offerings to the retro-philosopher king He likes to handle things old school (Yet and still) He likes to learn and grow and keep what you kill I think I like his queen a little better than he does I might have to slip his bed into the moat and hope for his sake that 24 Karat pride can help him float (I'm a struggler) Always have been Always will I’m so far outside the box that I never even had one I don’t like the prospect of only being creative when it suits you best Or only mastering one art so the other kids can have their pick Let 'em swim in the oil spill Let 'em dry their tears with ironic guilt Cause yeah it’s not his fault that he’s so fucking hard to deal with But he should know by now that not trying doesn’t make you human (Release the bats!) They circle my humble home in attack formation I sequestered me and Alfred to the safety of this cave we found Visual 360 rotation to find the cave in which you hide is the place where all your fears reside You’re a man and I’m your master Wax and Wane your enterprise in cycles I place your dry bones in a shrine for when your family hears you can’t come home You belong here (No, you really don’t belong here) Stay as long as you wish Just don’t touch my weed, my girl, my cash, my cat, or the brand-new satellite dish I compete for everything I want no matter how chrome my silver spoon is My body is stainless steel against the concrete Wrecking ball my providence toward the curtain call I need advice on using harsh cold words to burn tongues Goodmorning to you sir (I feel I’m in a proper place today I just really hope it stays that way) Goodmorning to you sir (I want a sand-box kind of kingdom Where the waters never reaps the harvest Of all your beloved fascinations)