Copyright: 3/5/98
Lifeless and Dead
Decorated love within reason
But some don't realize the treason
Almighty and maybe God sent
Sleeping oblivion was never meant.
Keep your distance arm's length
Keep up stamina and your strength
But this fallacy will not die
Yet on a cross here he lies.
(chorus)
Lifeless and dead
You left us all
Lifeless and dead It's your turn to fall.
(bridge)
As the raging wind blows deep within our minds
Time is of the essence, no sacred faith will find
We are bound to this world this one true God
Sold our souls for pennies spared the wrath rod.
Love with strings from above
Can't shake this morbid dove
Resurrecting our hopes and fears
No longer able to live with tears.
Feeling stronger every single day
Fucked, a disappointing lay
Decayed and eaten from the inside
Fury because one we believed in lied.
(repeat chorus)
(repeat bridge)
A personal blog with my horror/sci-fi poems, short stories, heavy metal lyrics and personal posts.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Life And Death
Life and Death
Copyright - 1/25/96
As the forbidden disease spreads
People flee left and right
As the earth opens its jowls
To accept the unforgiven
Life and death are the same in our heads.
As razor flints of acid rain descend
People would wonder why
As the clouds open to unspeakable doom
To accept its unborn and dead
Life and death they cannot mend.
Life and death takes all who hail
Life and death breathes innately
Life and death succumb to all
Life and death no wind to a sail.
Limb, life and hollow dreams
Broken and down trodden people
Lost love, no happiness to bare
Wombs and children forgotten and cast aside
Nothing works, falling apart at the seams.
As men, women and children race for their lives
Time runs out slowly and languidly
Death comes prepared and unwelcomed
Life descends beyond all reality
Stand your ground, wait for the knives.
Life and death concludes the past
Life and death is surreal
Life and death fails to no one
Life and death sailing at half mast.
Copyright - 1/25/96
As the forbidden disease spreads
People flee left and right
As the earth opens its jowls
To accept the unforgiven
Life and death are the same in our heads.
As razor flints of acid rain descend
People would wonder why
As the clouds open to unspeakable doom
To accept its unborn and dead
Life and death they cannot mend.
Life and death takes all who hail
Life and death breathes innately
Life and death succumb to all
Life and death no wind to a sail.
Limb, life and hollow dreams
Broken and down trodden people
Lost love, no happiness to bare
Wombs and children forgotten and cast aside
Nothing works, falling apart at the seams.
As men, women and children race for their lives
Time runs out slowly and languidly
Death comes prepared and unwelcomed
Life descends beyond all reality
Stand your ground, wait for the knives.
Life and death concludes the past
Life and death is surreal
Life and death fails to no one
Life and death sailing at half mast.
Killer Instinct
Killer Instinct
Copyright Demented Thinking Productions 1998
Through his entire adult life Grady Ruthledge cowered to no one, and he wasn't about to start tonight. Granted, when he was a small child he cowered in the sight of his father brandishing a switch as rage tore through his overgrown facial features. But, not on this night. Not on the night Grady had won the most prestigious award in the inner circles of lawyers and judges. This was his night and he wasn't about to let anything or anyone screw it up for him. Grady had become his own man and slithered out from under daddy's impersonal thumb. No, not tonight. It was perfect and nothing would sway Grady otherwise.
Grady plopped on a green park bench within the confines of the nasty, dirty city and fished into his black trench coat for his prize of prizes. Pulling it out and admiring the craftsmanship of the small trophy, Grady rubbed it profusely as if it was a magic lamp indicating a instant genie that would pop out and grant Grady three long awaited wishes. Easily slipping it back into his coat, Grady took a deep breath of the night air allowing the smog, smoke and steam to milk his lungs into a coughing fit. As Grady's swallow of life eased he thought he distinctly heard a scuffle in the bushes behind the park bench he sat upon.
As he turned up the darkened street, his senses came to an upright full alert position. Ruthledge scoped the alleyway noticing ever nook and crevice as he stepped into the tiny corridor of street only drug pushers and criminals he usually prosecuted presided. Try as he might, Grady could not shake the impenetrable eyes, which he felt following his every move. His pulse raced and beads of cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
His palms became sweaty and he licked his lips, as he looked frantically around for a weapon, any kind of weapon he could use against the stalker who now invaded his good evening. Anything would do, a lead pipe, some garbage, hell, he'd settle for a shoe left behind for his amazement and discovery by some old bum too drunk to realize that he had one shoe on and one shoe off. Right now what Grady needed was an edge, some kind of life preserver to swing down and pluck him from the depths of eternal drowning as nothing else could. Instead, he found an old wooden spoon with battle scars of it's own wedged deep into the spoon edge itself. It looked like hell and as if someone had used it for a teething ring, but it would have to do. Ruthledge gripped the spoon tightly in hopes it's demeanor alone would be enough to scare off the most unfriendly visitor, but knowing deep down inside it would be no match for what he was about to encounter.
He waited. He waited for what seemed like years before he heard quiet scuffling noises and labored, heavy, stale breathing projecting from the opposite end of the blackened alleyway. Licking his dry lips, Grady gripped the wooden spoon tighter until his fingers bled through red and then white. Random thoughts cruised through his head with an ineptness that was startling. The beast was coming and it was hungry.
Ruthledge stood with his back to the cold brick wall holding his breath without realizing it wishing this nightmare would just go away and leave him alone. It seemed as though days ago Grady had won that silly award and at this moment it really did not seem all that important to him anymore even though it had only been a few panicked moments before. Tightening his trap-like grip on the spoon, Grady prayed the creature would give up looking for him and leave as he crouched behind a cardboard box. Grady instinctively knew his prayers would not be enough considering this particular beast had a better sense of smell than others and it would surely find him snibbling like a baby behind a box of all things. "The late and great Grady Ruthledge reduced to tears in a dirty alley behind a cardboard box. Wonderful headlines," Grady breathed.
Grady Ruthledge broke out into a cold sweat as the wooden spoon slipped from his hand making a penciled thunk sound on the pavement. Quickly picking up the only weapon of choice, he hoped the unfamiliar sound went unrecognized and unnoticed by his immediate companion. It did not. Grady's eyes shifted left and then right looking for what would be the last thing to see him alive and kicking. He poured sweat now and could not hold on to his own stomach contents much less the spoon even though he held true to it.
Before he could move, blink, think, or breathe the beast was upon him, licking its lips and drooling piles of spittle on Grady's already soaked forehead. Grady gasped and completely forgot about his mighty spoon as he dropped it to the concrete again.
The man sized creature appeared to study Grady Ruthledge as though he was some kind of science project dredged up from a past biology class. It's lips parted and it bared its sharp fangs voicing a low, guttural growl, which expelled from somewhere deep within in its huge, hairy throat. The monster's eyes blazed red with the hint of brown they normally were. Grey and black fur covered the creature's entire body and a rank smell drifted into Grady's lungs as he gagged back the vomit, which was threatening to spew from one end of the alleyway to the other. It was half man and half beast, but at that very moment Grady swore it was more a beast than any man he'd ever seen in his life.
As the monster seized Grady Ruthledge it occurred to him that it was a beast of the old legends he had heard and read about as a small child. Once when he was seven he intermingled into a conversation of older elders of the community talking about the curse of the werewolves in these parts. But never had he dreamed for one second there was an inkling of truth to these wild tales, until now. In a moment the wolf was upon him, tearing and ripping his flesh and arms out of their sockets. Grady uttered his last, weak plea for help and laid helpless as the werewolf finished what it started only moments before.
Three blocks away Simon Wright heard Grady Ruthledge's final cries descending through the night air followed by an eerie silence and he knew it was time to get moving before it was too late. He glanced at his wristwatch and made a minor adjustment hitting the stopwatch button. As Simon threw on his hat and coat, he quickly rechecked all his gear for any disturbances or glitches that may hinder his ability to protect himself from the oncoming onslaught. He had everything, his gun; or weapon his father would of said, silver bullets with a spare cartridge, his Hank Aaron baseball bat, and a silver handled hunting knife his father had given to him on his first hunt at the ripe young age of fourteen.
Simon had rigged his leather trench coat especially for all these items and more. On some nights, when the moon was completely full and he had some reason to believe he would encounter more that one beast on the prowl, Simon would carry an extra 12 gauge shotgun under his coat and his .45 pistol, just in case. Simon Wright cautiously stepped out of his tiny apartment and while taking a deep breath generating fresh air over his lungs, he felt exhilarated for the struggle of life and death would soon be upon him as it always was once a month during the full phases of the moon. Simon silently strolled down the metropolis sidewalk moving quickly to the destination he heard the last screams coming from. He walked carefully and fully alert with his hands poised just above the butt end of his .357 magnum revolver.
Every since Simon was a small child he'd heard the same stories Grady Ruthledge did and he took them a little more seriously. Simon came from a long line of hunters. His father, his grandfather, and many more Wrights down through the ages of every walk of life were hunters of the night. Like any other man in his late thirties Simon held down a daytime job. He was a respected gunsmith, which was also a trade passed down from father to son in his family. It was somehow easier to produce a silver bullet if you were a gunsmith by trade yourself, whether than having to worry about the numerous questions that would be asked about the melting and making of several different calibers of bullets by an outsider. An outsider would raise an eyebrow of suspicion and Simon certainly did not need that. Simon made this decision the moment he took the prized hunting knife from his father, accepting his job as a hunter and a gunsmith. It was a living and Simon actually liked it. It wasn’t bad. It paid the bills and Simon never wanted for a thing.
Simon moved swiftly and silently, darting in and out of alleyways with a speed and endurance most mortal men did not possess let alone dream of while keeping a vigilant lookout for the creature he would soon come into contact with. Half an hour had passed and he had found nothing to clue him in to the beasts last whereabouts. Finding Grady’s broken and bruised body lying in a pool of its making, Simon sensed his blood beginning to pump faster into its chambers. The usual goose bumps rose on his sweating arms and the tiny hairs at nape of his neck began to prickle and dance alerting him he was not alone in the dirty, drab alley. Spinning around faster than he intended to, Simon caught his balance just in time before he completely toppled over like an absolute fool. With it’s bloodied teeth bared and growling deep from within it’s throat the beast spoke, “Well, it seems we meet again, hunter.” Blood dripped from it’s bottom lip as it spit out the word hunter like it was foul and distasteful. The enormous creature’s eyes blazed a bright red with undaunted fury upon Simon as it appeared to examine him from inside out.
In amazement that the beast even spoke to him, Simon stuttered, “I…it…it would s…seem s…so.” As he tried to place where he’d heard the voice before even as distorted as it was the beast saw its opportunity and flung itself upon him in a rage. Simon quickly thrust the baseball bat upwards without thinking holding off the gnashing teeth temporarily with all his might and strength. He fumbled in his pockets while he held off the beast for anything that would inflict some damaging harm to his attacker. Blindly finding his knife, Simon punched it up through his jacket and into the awaiting belly of the creature jerking it in an upwards motion as far as it would allowably go. The werewolf howled in fury and pain. Yanking the knife out in a frenzy, Simon hopped up from the ground and began his hasty retreat. Blood gushed out of the open wound as the animal let out a high pitched scream wallowing in it’s agony. The beast slowly got up with some difficulty holding it’s innards in place and scurried off into the inane shadows all the while swearing, “I’ll get you hunter! You haven’t seen the last of me yet!” The growling screams faded into the moonlit night as the beast traveled further and further away from Simon.
Deciding he’d had enough excitement for one night, Simon staggered back to his one room apartment slightly dazed and with extreme caution. He re-gained more of his strength the closer he came to home and he began to relax a little. While he drug out his keyring with shaking hands, he glanced over his shoulder keeping a close eye out for anymore surprises even though he knew his internal senses would alert him to danger before his eyes perceived it. He unlocked the two deadbolts on the barred iron gate and started on the steel door. Fumbling with the lock he quietly mumbled to himself, “Damn it, Simon, get it together.” As he forged the last key into the fifth deadbolt on his front door he couldn’t help but think he knew his attacker. The sound of its voice echoed in his head like a song played too much on the radio.
Copyright Demented Thinking Productions 1998
Through his entire adult life Grady Ruthledge cowered to no one, and he wasn't about to start tonight. Granted, when he was a small child he cowered in the sight of his father brandishing a switch as rage tore through his overgrown facial features. But, not on this night. Not on the night Grady had won the most prestigious award in the inner circles of lawyers and judges. This was his night and he wasn't about to let anything or anyone screw it up for him. Grady had become his own man and slithered out from under daddy's impersonal thumb. No, not tonight. It was perfect and nothing would sway Grady otherwise.
Grady plopped on a green park bench within the confines of the nasty, dirty city and fished into his black trench coat for his prize of prizes. Pulling it out and admiring the craftsmanship of the small trophy, Grady rubbed it profusely as if it was a magic lamp indicating a instant genie that would pop out and grant Grady three long awaited wishes. Easily slipping it back into his coat, Grady took a deep breath of the night air allowing the smog, smoke and steam to milk his lungs into a coughing fit. As Grady's swallow of life eased he thought he distinctly heard a scuffle in the bushes behind the park bench he sat upon.
As he turned up the darkened street, his senses came to an upright full alert position. Ruthledge scoped the alleyway noticing ever nook and crevice as he stepped into the tiny corridor of street only drug pushers and criminals he usually prosecuted presided. Try as he might, Grady could not shake the impenetrable eyes, which he felt following his every move. His pulse raced and beads of cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
His palms became sweaty and he licked his lips, as he looked frantically around for a weapon, any kind of weapon he could use against the stalker who now invaded his good evening. Anything would do, a lead pipe, some garbage, hell, he'd settle for a shoe left behind for his amazement and discovery by some old bum too drunk to realize that he had one shoe on and one shoe off. Right now what Grady needed was an edge, some kind of life preserver to swing down and pluck him from the depths of eternal drowning as nothing else could. Instead, he found an old wooden spoon with battle scars of it's own wedged deep into the spoon edge itself. It looked like hell and as if someone had used it for a teething ring, but it would have to do. Ruthledge gripped the spoon tightly in hopes it's demeanor alone would be enough to scare off the most unfriendly visitor, but knowing deep down inside it would be no match for what he was about to encounter.
He waited. He waited for what seemed like years before he heard quiet scuffling noises and labored, heavy, stale breathing projecting from the opposite end of the blackened alleyway. Licking his dry lips, Grady gripped the wooden spoon tighter until his fingers bled through red and then white. Random thoughts cruised through his head with an ineptness that was startling. The beast was coming and it was hungry.
Ruthledge stood with his back to the cold brick wall holding his breath without realizing it wishing this nightmare would just go away and leave him alone. It seemed as though days ago Grady had won that silly award and at this moment it really did not seem all that important to him anymore even though it had only been a few panicked moments before. Tightening his trap-like grip on the spoon, Grady prayed the creature would give up looking for him and leave as he crouched behind a cardboard box. Grady instinctively knew his prayers would not be enough considering this particular beast had a better sense of smell than others and it would surely find him snibbling like a baby behind a box of all things. "The late and great Grady Ruthledge reduced to tears in a dirty alley behind a cardboard box. Wonderful headlines," Grady breathed.
Grady Ruthledge broke out into a cold sweat as the wooden spoon slipped from his hand making a penciled thunk sound on the pavement. Quickly picking up the only weapon of choice, he hoped the unfamiliar sound went unrecognized and unnoticed by his immediate companion. It did not. Grady's eyes shifted left and then right looking for what would be the last thing to see him alive and kicking. He poured sweat now and could not hold on to his own stomach contents much less the spoon even though he held true to it.
Before he could move, blink, think, or breathe the beast was upon him, licking its lips and drooling piles of spittle on Grady's already soaked forehead. Grady gasped and completely forgot about his mighty spoon as he dropped it to the concrete again.
The man sized creature appeared to study Grady Ruthledge as though he was some kind of science project dredged up from a past biology class. It's lips parted and it bared its sharp fangs voicing a low, guttural growl, which expelled from somewhere deep within in its huge, hairy throat. The monster's eyes blazed red with the hint of brown they normally were. Grey and black fur covered the creature's entire body and a rank smell drifted into Grady's lungs as he gagged back the vomit, which was threatening to spew from one end of the alleyway to the other. It was half man and half beast, but at that very moment Grady swore it was more a beast than any man he'd ever seen in his life.
As the monster seized Grady Ruthledge it occurred to him that it was a beast of the old legends he had heard and read about as a small child. Once when he was seven he intermingled into a conversation of older elders of the community talking about the curse of the werewolves in these parts. But never had he dreamed for one second there was an inkling of truth to these wild tales, until now. In a moment the wolf was upon him, tearing and ripping his flesh and arms out of their sockets. Grady uttered his last, weak plea for help and laid helpless as the werewolf finished what it started only moments before.
Three blocks away Simon Wright heard Grady Ruthledge's final cries descending through the night air followed by an eerie silence and he knew it was time to get moving before it was too late. He glanced at his wristwatch and made a minor adjustment hitting the stopwatch button. As Simon threw on his hat and coat, he quickly rechecked all his gear for any disturbances or glitches that may hinder his ability to protect himself from the oncoming onslaught. He had everything, his gun; or weapon his father would of said, silver bullets with a spare cartridge, his Hank Aaron baseball bat, and a silver handled hunting knife his father had given to him on his first hunt at the ripe young age of fourteen.
Simon had rigged his leather trench coat especially for all these items and more. On some nights, when the moon was completely full and he had some reason to believe he would encounter more that one beast on the prowl, Simon would carry an extra 12 gauge shotgun under his coat and his .45 pistol, just in case. Simon Wright cautiously stepped out of his tiny apartment and while taking a deep breath generating fresh air over his lungs, he felt exhilarated for the struggle of life and death would soon be upon him as it always was once a month during the full phases of the moon. Simon silently strolled down the metropolis sidewalk moving quickly to the destination he heard the last screams coming from. He walked carefully and fully alert with his hands poised just above the butt end of his .357 magnum revolver.
Every since Simon was a small child he'd heard the same stories Grady Ruthledge did and he took them a little more seriously. Simon came from a long line of hunters. His father, his grandfather, and many more Wrights down through the ages of every walk of life were hunters of the night. Like any other man in his late thirties Simon held down a daytime job. He was a respected gunsmith, which was also a trade passed down from father to son in his family. It was somehow easier to produce a silver bullet if you were a gunsmith by trade yourself, whether than having to worry about the numerous questions that would be asked about the melting and making of several different calibers of bullets by an outsider. An outsider would raise an eyebrow of suspicion and Simon certainly did not need that. Simon made this decision the moment he took the prized hunting knife from his father, accepting his job as a hunter and a gunsmith. It was a living and Simon actually liked it. It wasn’t bad. It paid the bills and Simon never wanted for a thing.
Simon moved swiftly and silently, darting in and out of alleyways with a speed and endurance most mortal men did not possess let alone dream of while keeping a vigilant lookout for the creature he would soon come into contact with. Half an hour had passed and he had found nothing to clue him in to the beasts last whereabouts. Finding Grady’s broken and bruised body lying in a pool of its making, Simon sensed his blood beginning to pump faster into its chambers. The usual goose bumps rose on his sweating arms and the tiny hairs at nape of his neck began to prickle and dance alerting him he was not alone in the dirty, drab alley. Spinning around faster than he intended to, Simon caught his balance just in time before he completely toppled over like an absolute fool. With it’s bloodied teeth bared and growling deep from within it’s throat the beast spoke, “Well, it seems we meet again, hunter.” Blood dripped from it’s bottom lip as it spit out the word hunter like it was foul and distasteful. The enormous creature’s eyes blazed a bright red with undaunted fury upon Simon as it appeared to examine him from inside out.
In amazement that the beast even spoke to him, Simon stuttered, “I…it…it would s…seem s…so.” As he tried to place where he’d heard the voice before even as distorted as it was the beast saw its opportunity and flung itself upon him in a rage. Simon quickly thrust the baseball bat upwards without thinking holding off the gnashing teeth temporarily with all his might and strength. He fumbled in his pockets while he held off the beast for anything that would inflict some damaging harm to his attacker. Blindly finding his knife, Simon punched it up through his jacket and into the awaiting belly of the creature jerking it in an upwards motion as far as it would allowably go. The werewolf howled in fury and pain. Yanking the knife out in a frenzy, Simon hopped up from the ground and began his hasty retreat. Blood gushed out of the open wound as the animal let out a high pitched scream wallowing in it’s agony. The beast slowly got up with some difficulty holding it’s innards in place and scurried off into the inane shadows all the while swearing, “I’ll get you hunter! You haven’t seen the last of me yet!” The growling screams faded into the moonlit night as the beast traveled further and further away from Simon.
Deciding he’d had enough excitement for one night, Simon staggered back to his one room apartment slightly dazed and with extreme caution. He re-gained more of his strength the closer he came to home and he began to relax a little. While he drug out his keyring with shaking hands, he glanced over his shoulder keeping a close eye out for anymore surprises even though he knew his internal senses would alert him to danger before his eyes perceived it. He unlocked the two deadbolts on the barred iron gate and started on the steel door. Fumbling with the lock he quietly mumbled to himself, “Damn it, Simon, get it together.” As he forged the last key into the fifth deadbolt on his front door he couldn’t help but think he knew his attacker. The sound of its voice echoed in his head like a song played too much on the radio.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Justice
Justice
Copyright - 2/3/96
They walk the beat and keep the peace
They right wrongs and put crime away
When life deals its unpleasantness
Criminals go indefinitely free.
Men and women here to help
Arresting circumstances nonchalant
Spit on and misunderstood
Putting away all those hoods.
When the justice system sets them free
Criminals roam the streets
Judges and lawyers on the take
No justice, criminals on the make.
Served with a warrant daily
Police are just doing their job
Lock up and central crime retrieves
Criminals rule and no one believes.
Cops try to preserve our peace
Look at all the things they put up with
Shot, Stabbed, the chase is on
Time to put away all the cons.
Name calling they have allowed
Letting it roll off their backs
Resisting arrest cons try to get away
"Halt, police," they may say.
For every criminal they put up
One gets out on technicality
No one is perfect even the highest judge
Criminals get caught and hold a grudge.
Murder, rape, assault and the like
Cops take them off the street
We can help and get involved
Or else none of us will live to evolve.
Copyright - 2/3/96
They walk the beat and keep the peace
They right wrongs and put crime away
When life deals its unpleasantness
Criminals go indefinitely free.
Men and women here to help
Arresting circumstances nonchalant
Spit on and misunderstood
Putting away all those hoods.
When the justice system sets them free
Criminals roam the streets
Judges and lawyers on the take
No justice, criminals on the make.
Served with a warrant daily
Police are just doing their job
Lock up and central crime retrieves
Criminals rule and no one believes.
Cops try to preserve our peace
Look at all the things they put up with
Shot, Stabbed, the chase is on
Time to put away all the cons.
Name calling they have allowed
Letting it roll off their backs
Resisting arrest cons try to get away
"Halt, police," they may say.
For every criminal they put up
One gets out on technicality
No one is perfect even the highest judge
Criminals get caught and hold a grudge.
Murder, rape, assault and the like
Cops take them off the street
We can help and get involved
Or else none of us will live to evolve.
Judicial Trespass
Copyright: 2/18/96
Judicial Trespass
Does the innocent and trail?
Could he be in denial?
Rising, the gorge of bile.
Does the man really believe?
That there is no retrieve
Can he willingly leave?
Is he insane or just smart?
Can he live? Does he have heart?
Death would be a good start.
Is the man guilty of murder?
Did he? He know no further
Beating the odds, it's absurd.
Did he run because of guilt?
Adhering to him like silt
Death reigns the house he built.
Does he go away scot-free?
Can't the judge and jury see?
Freedom for race is key.
Does he plead not guilty?
Is it the way it should be?
Why is he now very free?
He knows more than is settled
With the public mind he has mettled
Our own coffin has he nailed?
Does he protect someone close?
Someone loves and admire most
Someone who may come and boast.
Trail was over before it began
Herds of lawyers doing what they can
Should of been convicted, he ran.
Does hatred, anger and prejudice rule us?
Or is it doing what it can and must?
Life and death reasoning or bust.
Can move on past skin color?
White, black, rich, poor rapes the door
Can we survive? Can't take anymore.
Was the man let go because of stardom?
Or was it fate that granted a pardon?
Or was he just second to none?
Did the jury make the right decision?
Or did they release a killer, what may come?
Judicial trespass guilt's through and done.
Judicial trespass overlooking
Innocence bares looking
Judicial trespass forgetting
Judicial trespass unbelieving
Judicial Trespass
Does the innocent and trail?
Could he be in denial?
Rising, the gorge of bile.
Does the man really believe?
That there is no retrieve
Can he willingly leave?
Is he insane or just smart?
Can he live? Does he have heart?
Death would be a good start.
Is the man guilty of murder?
Did he? He know no further
Beating the odds, it's absurd.
Did he run because of guilt?
Adhering to him like silt
Death reigns the house he built.
Does he go away scot-free?
Can't the judge and jury see?
Freedom for race is key.
Does he plead not guilty?
Is it the way it should be?
Why is he now very free?
He knows more than is settled
With the public mind he has mettled
Our own coffin has he nailed?
Does he protect someone close?
Someone loves and admire most
Someone who may come and boast.
Trail was over before it began
Herds of lawyers doing what they can
Should of been convicted, he ran.
Does hatred, anger and prejudice rule us?
Or is it doing what it can and must?
Life and death reasoning or bust.
Can move on past skin color?
White, black, rich, poor rapes the door
Can we survive? Can't take anymore.
Was the man let go because of stardom?
Or was it fate that granted a pardon?
Or was he just second to none?
Did the jury make the right decision?
Or did they release a killer, what may come?
Judicial trespass guilt's through and done.
Judicial trespass overlooking
Innocence bares looking
Judicial trespass forgetting
Judicial trespass unbelieving
Innocence Plea
Copyright: 9/6/92
copyright 1992 Demented Thinking Productions
Innocence Plea
Live and die for your country, that's what they inbred in your brainwashed mind
War and peace are one in the same, their chains hold you, dotted line signed
Hurry up and wait to die, your ass in Uncle Sam's purgatorious sling
Hell knows no boundaries in world war conflict, madness is undoubtedly king.
Torpedoed by the Japanese sub, blood and life on the line
Ship sinking fast, the salt water gushes over the bow, knowing not what you will find
Eight-hundred eighty-three men washed into the roaring confines of sea
Three-hundred men and a lonely captain left to forget, innocence plea.
Militaristic gods got to put the blame on someone
They ruin one man's life for the hell of it, under the gun.
Shark infested waters breed the black death of unforgettable, lashing teeth
Bloodshed and hallucinogenic insanity for five days, swimming to mirages within the keep
Soldiers ripped in half, your best friend bobbing lifeless in the blink of an eye
How can the military prove innocence guilty, and stand behind all the lies.
General quart-martial proceedings for the captain goes as they had planned
The Hiroshima bomb delivered, all of the U.S. weapons now left unmanned
Busted rank and broken dreams fills his nightmares, no impending solution
Cut-weighed, browbeaten, and defeated by the imperialistic government, horrid conclusion.
Militaristic gods got to put the blame on someone
They ruin one man's life for the hell of it, under the gun.
Flashbacks and ghastly memories of this sea tragedy would not fade
The captain, in his agony, lived by circumstantial mean the military made
Growing harder each morning to face one more depressed hell-ridden day
Nothing left of a once heroic man, drowning in confusion, what could he do or say?
Bright and early the man walks out on his front porch and draws a breath of fresh air
Lays down on the steps with his military charms in hand, and puts the gun to his ear
Here he lies, hopeless and still since his suicide set him free
A man of honor and dignity, gropes for the justice of innocence plea.
copyright 1992 Demented Thinking Productions
Innocence Plea
Live and die for your country, that's what they inbred in your brainwashed mind
War and peace are one in the same, their chains hold you, dotted line signed
Hurry up and wait to die, your ass in Uncle Sam's purgatorious sling
Hell knows no boundaries in world war conflict, madness is undoubtedly king.
Torpedoed by the Japanese sub, blood and life on the line
Ship sinking fast, the salt water gushes over the bow, knowing not what you will find
Eight-hundred eighty-three men washed into the roaring confines of sea
Three-hundred men and a lonely captain left to forget, innocence plea.
Militaristic gods got to put the blame on someone
They ruin one man's life for the hell of it, under the gun.
Shark infested waters breed the black death of unforgettable, lashing teeth
Bloodshed and hallucinogenic insanity for five days, swimming to mirages within the keep
Soldiers ripped in half, your best friend bobbing lifeless in the blink of an eye
How can the military prove innocence guilty, and stand behind all the lies.
General quart-martial proceedings for the captain goes as they had planned
The Hiroshima bomb delivered, all of the U.S. weapons now left unmanned
Busted rank and broken dreams fills his nightmares, no impending solution
Cut-weighed, browbeaten, and defeated by the imperialistic government, horrid conclusion.
Militaristic gods got to put the blame on someone
They ruin one man's life for the hell of it, under the gun.
Flashbacks and ghastly memories of this sea tragedy would not fade
The captain, in his agony, lived by circumstantial mean the military made
Growing harder each morning to face one more depressed hell-ridden day
Nothing left of a once heroic man, drowning in confusion, what could he do or say?
Bright and early the man walks out on his front porch and draws a breath of fresh air
Lays down on the steps with his military charms in hand, and puts the gun to his ear
Here he lies, hopeless and still since his suicide set him free
A man of honor and dignity, gropes for the justice of innocence plea.
Induction
Induction
Copyright - 2/12/96
The war is on in our lonely, complicated streets
Drugs run rampant, our children a collective high
Is there an end? How do we begin?
Gangs are children, misdirected born to die
Drugs take over but we don't register the defeat.
Wandering through life in a drug induced haze
Drugs make life pass you by and you fail
Is there any time? Do we have reason or rhyme?
Lying in a gutter addicted and totally frail
Children robbing and stealing in a drug craze.
Where are the dealers who get our kids hooked?
Drugs make strange bedfellows, infected needles
Is there a point? Do we rid ourselves and anoint?
Our children taken hostage in the midst of drug sales
All together our kids and the parents are crooked.
Vital signs dwindle away on the drug block
Pay the piper scores become certain death
Is there relief? How doe we keep our beliefs?
Watch our children die, take our last breath
Time runs out, our children live by the drug clock.
Businessmen snorting their lives ambitiously away
Arraigning their own death sentence they produce
Is there a life? Should we all fly like a kite?
Our lives become little to nothing, support the noose
Time to clean up, the inevitable time is today.
Sucking on addiction the junkie pays for crack
Unable to decipher between right and wrong
Is there somebody? Can't they see?
Things don't fix themselves, same old song
Dealers live for the money, serious stash.
Drugs do not solve problems, they create
If we keep moving this way life will cease
Is there a cure? Can we be sure?
Taste the poison and become deceased
Ridden with disease make your own death date.
Copyright - 2/12/96
The war is on in our lonely, complicated streets
Drugs run rampant, our children a collective high
Is there an end? How do we begin?
Gangs are children, misdirected born to die
Drugs take over but we don't register the defeat.
Wandering through life in a drug induced haze
Drugs make life pass you by and you fail
Is there any time? Do we have reason or rhyme?
Lying in a gutter addicted and totally frail
Children robbing and stealing in a drug craze.
Where are the dealers who get our kids hooked?
Drugs make strange bedfellows, infected needles
Is there a point? Do we rid ourselves and anoint?
Our children taken hostage in the midst of drug sales
All together our kids and the parents are crooked.
Vital signs dwindle away on the drug block
Pay the piper scores become certain death
Is there relief? How doe we keep our beliefs?
Watch our children die, take our last breath
Time runs out, our children live by the drug clock.
Businessmen snorting their lives ambitiously away
Arraigning their own death sentence they produce
Is there a life? Should we all fly like a kite?
Our lives become little to nothing, support the noose
Time to clean up, the inevitable time is today.
Sucking on addiction the junkie pays for crack
Unable to decipher between right and wrong
Is there somebody? Can't they see?
Things don't fix themselves, same old song
Dealers live for the money, serious stash.
Drugs do not solve problems, they create
If we keep moving this way life will cease
Is there a cure? Can we be sure?
Taste the poison and become deceased
Ridden with disease make your own death date.
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