If you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change
He's around every corner, And in the alleys of the street, Looking through shop windows, His untruthful face you will meet, He's on the screen of every Mac, And on the page of every magazine, He's on...
Squirming, creeping, crawling, Fingernails I am gnawing, Nervous thanks to friends, Say the devils in my eye, Why oh why do they keep me here.
Even though I was gone a moment, I missed your warm embrace, An amazing, sparkling creative tool, Which is known as a writers place, See, my lifestyle says "no", To letting creative juices flow, And...
Dark, drab and grey, I can't stand straight, I slowly sway, With a miserable tone in all I say People no longer smile, they turn away, Now I crawl, rather than pace A spring in my step. What happened.
Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick... The clock would never stop, not until it saw the room in chaos.
He was destroyed by them, Shut down and turned off, Thanks to their cruel and mocking laugh, His dreams were shattered, His confidence in tatters, And he cried as he slowly shuffled home.
I know that I know that I know absolutely nothing at all..
I look at myself, figure in the wind, A fraction in your life, for now, To you, I am but an annoying pest, An unnoticed fly on the wall, You laugh at me, you poke at me, To you I am only a toy.
Why hide in a fake shell, made of what people want to see and hear. Why act stupid to make people laugh at you. Is it attention you want. Is it friendship. Acceptance.
Hilarious bundles of love and joy, Bounding creatures of innocent bliss, Balls of madness and bedlam, Do you hold that against them.
I shall tell you a short story, A story that is short, A brief moment of wonder, A single amazing thought. A story so short, In a life so long, But are they forgotten.
Blackness creeping around corners, slithering like a dark, sinister snake.
How to be happy, you ask.
He drew a deep breath as a soft wind brushed against his stubble infested chin. A smile worked its way across his slightly aged face, yet he had nothing to smile about.
January the 12th, 1995 Dear Oliver, Today was just another normal day.
Where I come from there is murder, Blood runs down the dusty path, Where I come from there is rape, Screams which are followed by a laugh.
We make all these films, Stories and poems of Aliens beyond the stars, With their long fingers, And their metal ships That fly, fast and far. But are we that Different, from the ones We call aliens.
I have failed myself to success..
Everyone calls me different, but that's because I'm the only one who makes a difference..
One day it all changes, An outbreak breaks out. Shuffling creatures, Start pouring out. They wander the streets, Looking for meat, Which they often find.
If you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change..