R.I.P. Rock and roll, I salute you.

Don’t put me on the cover of a Rolling Stone and don’t label me a fucking guitar hero. -Balk

Via someecards

My new sounds:

Get up early, go to school, and buy when prices are down.

Keep with the fashion, go to church, you won’t always be around.

Take your medication, don’t complain too much.

Save for a vacation, go with brands you trust.

Save your pennies, throw your quarters down the wishing well.

Buy a plastic smile and sell yourself. 

Tell little lies and advertise, buy yourself a job. 

Provide a service for a business for some steady income.

Isn’t it great to be free? Just pay the taxes you owe,

And build your fucking credit n’ you’ll have money to blow…

IT’S BLACK FRIDAY

Pornographic tabloid billboard slut.

Propaganda exploits, who gives a fuck?

Partnership vandals dealing product placement,

Defacing public property with advertisements.

Remove the software, money can’t fix debt.

Don’t download applications and get with the net.

You’ll always miss the action when you close your eyes.

You’ll always misjudge what you don’t realize. 

Turn off the news and get a clue, there’s bigger things going on.

Don’t wait for Jesus to save you when you’re dead and gone…

IT’S BLACK FRIDAY

It’s just a dance of the dead in the human flesh

Diseased and obsessed like artificial sex.

Business Tycoons, congested rooms with a view. 

Making prophet from addictions that are packaged and produced. 

So don’t put me on the cover of a Rolling Stone

And don’t label me a fucking guitar hero.

Recycled commodities, has-beens and hacks,

Stock market junkies snorting numbers like crack.

If Jesus was a mortgage loan and God a real-estate,

I’d still be fucking waiting for my mail-in rebate…

IT’S BLACK FRIDAY

Here I stand. We meet again. It is cold and the sun is going down. The frost bitten grave stones stand like hollow pillars of solid emptiness. The only thing to mourn in this grave yard is I, for it is me that has been laid to rest. These headstones, these symbols of aborted incarnations, are exactly that; symbols of lost memories that never lived.  What else could it be? Are these missed opportunities that have not been lived up to? Are they lessons showing me who I ‘could’ve’ been if I had been prepared? Did I not prepare? Was I not willing enough or strong enough? Was it I, a condition of circumstance, who could not foresee the impending tragedy of my actions, or is it all a joke? Am I the tragedy or the supreme jester in this elaborate Shakespeare play? Maybe I’m both, for perhaps they are both one and the same.

Curtains.    

We’ve manipulated each other from the start.

We thought we knew the motives of our hearts.

I didn’t live up to you, but I did all I could.

I came in all wrong, didn’t do what I should.

It’s all just adjustments we all have to make.

It’s just a sacrifice we both chanced to take.

I’m taking back all the things that we once shared.

I’m letting go of the times that we didn’t care.

I can pretend that I’m just not there,

But in the end it’s not my cross to bear.

I couldn’t ask for better in so many ways,

But I can’t forget the reasons I couldn’t stay.

No room to compromise what we should accept.

No more empty promises for us to neglect.

What we once embraced, we push away.

It’s not my place, nothing more to say.

Nothing can be lost if nothing is mine.

So I can’t define to what is goodbye.

This pretty much sums it up.