Don’t Waste the Water of Life.

Cause I have it in my cortex I have it in my palm, and when the shit hits the fan I hope my nerves still will stay calm,
I know that this is the coming I know there still will be wrongs, but if your seeing the fire you better ring the alarm,
Just what are you wanting with your listening ear, is it mild entertainment or a mad mans means to a jeer,
This is the waves of an artwork the poets mad sense of self, and if you still can hear it than its not just the echoes of hell,
The rumbling ravings of the noises held deep, that choke you and grab you and keep you drag you from sleep,
We ask who is the victim here and who is the victor,
Show me the negatives not just the poses for pictures,
I see in the darkness like I was born to uphold it, in the hours of oxen, is when my blood boils the mostest,
I can’t take it I know it and my hates straight overflowing, I miss the old garden,  a greatness more than the surface,
How is this working, I know we’re all hurting,
Its the rise and the ebb of all these emotions,
And if apathy’s chosen then how will we cross oceans, And if we can’t see each other, then how will we let hope in,
I mean my throats over choking,
As my words cut at this yolk and,
The burdens of being a beast and always knowing,
We’re hoping on hope that hope comes from our throat before the blades begin to behead  our rational notions,
Oh these waves are invoking a passion whos rhythms controlling,
The tips of the icebergs the coldest of potions,
Is it a heat or a chill, is it real or a thrill,
Is it the closest thing we have to god,
When we here are in motion,
Are you cast or are you chosen,
Are you alive or are you dozing,
Dont waste the water of life my daughter,
Nor the wind in the sails of this life of oceans.

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