Chemical chains, the synapse, the grain
And forced, discreet , just pick up your feet
Emerge, the irony, nerves are complete
The scapegoat, the time, disguised in your crime
A field, left untouched
A song and a glow, for all those who know
Cracks in the concrete
Adjust the volume, edge of your seat
Bass, treble, iron hits the metal
Go grab a ride, and pedal, pedal, pedal
Shock therapy, through the ears, it would sound
An audiophile, without fear, is now found
By Jeffrey Chamberlain II
No comments:
Post a Comment