the stars, the sea, and sleep.

Saturday, June 5, 2010

Oz (Eight Short of Forty)

Work before play,
Sleep deprived before the day
Starts rolling across the sky.
She wakes up snoring, rolls away.
A paid traitor is what has been said,
But there's no truth in this duality
When formality is dead.
And with a rush of blood to my head,
It goes from gray to Pink's,
Feeling like I should just like I could in L.A.
Connect the dots with freeways and stoplights,
It's the only thing I got right
After I took the third left.
I deal out words through shuffled thoughts
Until the court is out of order,
And there's no gavel in judgment's hand.
I swore myself in without ever taking the stand;
Is it becoming what I hated
Or what I couldn't understand?

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