CUT OUT THE SALT, CRACKERS
Hey now, this is a conditional, exquisite volume of sounds that mean something, dick deliver
From the origin to the destination, the wheels get you there faster, the Time and Space shiver
Aching from all of the negative feedback, static electricity and the function of ennui’s index
Above and below the pits and pendulums of Scaramouch and Brian the Dog, bone the hex.
In nobody’s dreams, not in mine or yours or anyone else’s, a matter of free will is so very sad
Given to everyone who arrives to breathe this Earth’s air, raised to live and die, good or bad
Whether or not there’s a reward or punishment for the actions you’ve performed, kill whistle
Maybe it’s not just a way to motivate the good to remain a good, bad boy, to avoid dark Evil.
Bottom’s were up, dropped out with or without you, all in the moment we were shakin’ hands
Black credit cards barricading the gold dust of the naughty witches;, goddess’ succubus, U.S.
Mothers and fathers let us go away and learn the lessons of the matter and form on the lambs
Finale of the whole skit, the charade that started this clown parade, a promised land circus.
Get your hands off of my pile of cash, no brains to get you off of this planet alive, all gotta die
World won’t stop turning until it’s my turn to move on or move out of this form, hey don’t cry
It’s either hell or high water under the bridge and you’re gonna find out sooner than later, eh
Took your turn on this ride, you rode it out bareback, drunk on a jet, kissed the ground, hey!
When I got back to the world, I didn’t know what would happen and then it flew ‘74 to ‘20
Forty six years on a thunderbolt with a periodic table of lightening from mass, form honey
Rock and roll in your recollection, in your box or in your urn, who got your truck or Harley?
It’s all that matters when doggone1 bones lose the DNA verve, in a box or an urn, I be free!
Frantic and in a stealth mode in the middle of nowhere, nobody can find me, small town
Play poker Friday nights, party down in the hollar on Saturday nights with the clan I own
Red, white and blue flyin’ high with a high volume of protective, defensive ingenuity, dogs
Serious as the bite and the bark, better be very afraid, back to Queens to live like Kings, us.
Somewhere close to where you are, it’s right there where I am, that’s hillbilly significant, eh
I could get in deep and dig down further than the core of a planet or the Sun or Black Hole
Down the Singularity where even Nothing gets no free will to resist, it’s an eternal free fall
From the place your birth in this incarnation began to the place you are now, a seed of hay.
Wheels to move you back and forth from your plush crib to your daily grind, DJ on talk show
It takes a cool redneck to stay solid and in control of reactions to smack talk, easy to cut 5150
So very hard to let that nutty, crazy, half-insane Betty-Sue fake kind of love, it’ll cost ya fifty
It’s all a matter of TIME, I’ll be thinkin’ to saddle up and ride, in Space, as above, so below.
by
r j j stephan, i
c. ROCKTOBER 26, 2019 A.D. @ 5:11 PM PST
{ DRAFTED with an ugly sob yet inspired by Alan Jackson groomin’ the muse with #FiveOClockSomewhere on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/BPCjC543llU }
W.W.A.R.D.?
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