When every heart sings, we're seeking the right.
Fly beyond the clashes of disdain.
Don’t compromise the glory of this feat.
A crescendo of sight for an origami of flight.
It's an amalgamation of desecration to live without inspiration. Haiti needs a pledge of participation, a fixation of resuscitation. So, light your dedication to pivot towards this nation.
The violence of the screams are silencing my dreams. Can anybody tell me if tomorrow is worth all this sorrow?
Singe your wings, and light the flame of glory. Every heart sings, as heroes to this story.
We may fall, so we can rise. We will seek beyond demise. For every wound that we heal is a light darkness won’t steal.
It takes more than a sisterhood, to tell the tale of a brotherhood. So, let’s all unite for betterment, for the sake of all manhood.
Even nature goes through frustration, a separation of inspiration, so let’s forge a dedication to pledge for its regeneration.
There are songs for every wrong, for every right yearns to stand in the light.
Hold my hand in the shadows, bridge me through to the shallows. With my faith in the hallows, fill my life past the hollows.
It’s no wonder that I wonder, in a wandering sight, where is hopeless bred, who says it must be fed?
This is the cry of my chemistry.
Why am I here, staring at the walls that are bare?
It’s cold out there, but warm in here. My temperament is more than just despair.
I may not be able to walk on water, but I refuse to drown in sea.
Despite my lack of silence, there are words that churn inside of me. So much to say, yet the words have clogged the way out.
Every soul has a window. Every door opens more. Every wall casts a shadow. Every ceiling echoes the floor.
I know all the lines to Manic Monday, but my dreams are written in screams. Any day can be my off-day, so not every Sunday is as fun as it seems.
I was born during a solar eclipse, so the void got filled with an ellipsis. I’m joint by three steps from my vantage point, a dangling participle that hinges on abyss.
Sometimes, I color outside the lines. They crisscross, but they are all mine.
When it’s all done and said, some heroes will be forgotten dead.
I’m tasting all my tears, drowning in a pool of fears.
Can you hear me when I fall, beyond the words written on the wall?
I thought I was hearing voices from the settlement, but they were only sounds coming from my instrument.
You look to me for space, and you find Grace. But, my baggage can't fit the human race.
We're passengers floating on a derailed train, as if we're rehearsing a scene on a plane.
- Would you be horrified by tickles, if they transmogrified us as pickles?
- Are we the virus carrier, to deafen the sound barrier?
Every mirror cuts like glass. Every blemish is shaped too fast.
Submit your best lyric… I dare you to rhyme.
The fortune of shadows is cast from the will to shine on. Hope stems from within and stays grounded, yet rises with the dawn.
Can you comprehend the signs, and find peace fossilized in the mines? Let the rest bequest the best of us, and testify in-between the lines.
I've got time to compose this rhyme. It's flavored with thyme, and tempered by rime.
Time and space are on the verge of divorce. Lack of understanding is the gorge of discourse.
I hear echoes ripple across the river, while the child in me drowns to deliver.
Life and death are bookends on the shelf. The space in-between is the time I define myself.
I’m marred by soliloquy, a false sense of tranquillity.
A figment of imagination, his red pigment yields to imitation.
But, the story must not be so feared, even if you are hearing-impaired.
My face turned blue, when I heard he had a recipe for venison stew.
Did you know that he is color blind? He thinks he’s wearing a green suit, in his mind.
When he first started, he got arrested for trespassing, but we have come to accept him in time’s passing.
If Mrs. Claus ever files for divorce, I wonder if Santa signed a prenup. Will she take half of the toys?
I've never seen his boot prints carved in the snow. Yet, everywhere I go, his imprints always show.
I heard from his publicist that he's not a narcissist, and neither a dictator with an elvish fetish.
There's a smidgen of religion, in the message delivered today by carrier pigeon.
It was once said, that he was born on the back of a sled.
Dreams unraveling throughout the ridge, keep me traveling across the bridge. The view is unabridged.
I'm having an asthma attack, fighting to gentrify this cul-de-sac.
The canvas is not framed. Destiny is not tamed. Every stroke of hope bleeds beyond the confines of lines. My soul is not blamed, not shamed, not maimed.
I am being exhumed, forsaken by my tomb.
I will not equivocate, or dilute my fate.
My dreams can be heard between the whispers of the stars.
Of course, I’m on a course of discourse.
I'm feeling ecstatic that there is no traffic.
There will be no regrets, even when the sun bows out and sets.
My dues are paid through tollways.
Is this road a mirage, a dead end in camouflage?
If all roads lead to Rome, which way can I roam?
For every road I claim, smoke signals spell out my name.
I’m flying from the nest, with no will to contest.
I am the light that will ignite.
I confess, I dare, make a wish to fill the air...
The start of every moment is a new thrill, but I pray that I don't end as road kill.
As I burn rubber on the road, the forest blazes off the fold. In my ear, I can hear the cries of Smokey the Bear, so I lend him a tear.
For every bridge I have burned, tolls a scar of a lesson learned.
A chicken crossed a road, then taunted me with a dare. But, I don't care. I swear, I'll pluck its wings from anywhere.
I was told not to spoon-feed the animals at the fork in the road.
The scars of my age are dancing anew in this parade.
White lines disconnect my peace of mind.
The bus broke down, on my way out of town. I carry a frown, with my feet found on the ground.
I must confess, my GPS is more or less in distress.
I've been torn, ever since I was born.
It is time for you to decide.
I’m tired of being on this ride.
It is time for you to decide.
Drift to the rift, you will capsize.
Move aside from the driver side.
For this time, I’m feeling alive.
I’m wailing in the shadows, awaiting the dawn.
I’m blinded by the shadows. My vision is gone.
The question is the answer, rhetorically sown.
I will not yield to sorrow. I’ve got to move on.
I will not be a cliché. The rhythm is wrong.
We’ve been on borrowed time so long, that even the clock repossessed this song.
I’m claiming my right to do what’s right, and sway left from this fight.
The road is tainted with twists and turns, mapped by bridges that are burned.
Even shadows seek to confide.
The math is even to divide.
It's time to spare change with the tide.
I'm counting on you to subside.
More of us has got to decide.
We're drifting with the draft outside.
Don’t feed me your lines, 'cause I’m choking on my sigh.
The question is breeding a failure rate so high.
Reverb is revealing the words to say goodbye.
Diseased by feeling, I’d rather heal than die.
I never can please you, no matter how hard I try.
If I knew why, I would have a third eye.
There must be more than just living to die.
I need to move on, I can’t live with your lie.
As much as I need you, I ask myself why?
We are anthem. We are the heart of song. Our story beats along.
There are moments that we seek to rewind, here is now to unbind.
Here is my face. The scars may seem displaced. But, when traced, they enchase.
Today I sing, for everything little thing, for voice awakening.
There is a light breeding in the shadows, fertile from the battle.
There’s more to me, than just what you can see. Yearning seed, dying breed.
I’m consciously setting free ties that bind, stain my soul, cloud my mind.
Crossing bridges I have left often burned, there have been lessons learned.
I will castrate all the silence, with the echoes of life's vibrance.
My name is called to everyone, 'cause it translates as anyone.
Sifting life through recovery, I'm holding on to destiny.
Turn the key for the best of me. Open doors, love the rest of me.
I challenge you to sing this song. The harmony yearns to prolong.
There is a face within the crowd, crying out, but yet inside proud.
Accept the task to lay down our mask. When you camouflage your soul, life takes its toll.
Hold my hand, that’s a better plan. Understand, as best you can.
The next step I take will not be the final one. I haven’t stopped living, shining with the sun.
I’m erasing all my tears, as I’m displacing all my fears.
I’m bearing no more shame, as I bare my own name.
I lived in the shadows, sowed death in the gallows, but the harvest is the bridge to the shallows.
I accept responsibility, to declare possibility, that destiny is within my ability.
We can rise above the circumstance, when we live beyond the happenstance.
Each of us, seeks the best of us, but some of us, needs the rest of us.
Do you know how, to see me now? I am a flower inheriting will power.
The land is worth more with footsteps in the sand, so it's in your interest to stand and lend a hand.
The day has come where we all stand here as one. For everyone fights here until the battle's won.
There’s a magnitude of gratitude, when addiction has subdued.
Echoes are united, 'cause voices have decided, there’s a better world when you and I aren’t divided.
I'll refrain from living in pain, so this refrain is meant to cleanse the stain.
We have a choice, to lend our voice, to pay it forward with a charge to rejoice.
I can't sing this melody, without your harmony. The silence said to me, there's a voice that's out of key.
This is the beginning of a brand new song. My veins are strumming for life to prolong.
As the tears rolled down my eyes, I was told the quest of life breeds compromise.
I've never been called a hero, 'cause I never knew the meaning of my name.
If I could take less where I once stood, I would give more near the greater good.
Sometimes I fall, to remind myself how to stand.
I want to regurgitate what I already ate.
This time, my feet are set in concrete.
Now I’m counting disparities between the cavities.
I assume you must have thought I was a broom.
I should have noticed the clues when you stole my shoes.
Feeling off-balance exposed my Achilles' heel.
Not worth the expense to rhyme with Armani suit.
It must give you a thrill to be dressed to kill.
Even the crease folds to our love deceased.
But, the sandals are more than I can handle.
So obvious you’re still a sour fruit.
As the label fades, unstitch the tirade.
I changed all the locks to shut you from me, so even this song will be out of key.
You will receive the cost to bereave. My love is worth more than you perceive.
Now it's my turn to make you learn. You’re a sinner, I’m a winner.
What's the sense in giving you my two cents? The bill is due, and I can't spare the change.
Did you sterilize the knife, before you infected my life?
Our love started to wither from a tweet on Twitter. Then, moved on to a Photoshop scam on Instagram.
You're a backstabber, dressed like the Mad Hatter.
You're a backstabber, dressed like the Mad Hatter.
I'm in a craze, inside a maze. Hear me out, as I paraphrase.
And, now it's my turn to make this bridge burn.
I told all my friends how you did me wrong, and now they join me in the chorus of this song.
With reason, I swallow thorns to energize. This season, the rose in me will bloom and rise.
So, here’s the decree… I am free. I am me.
I’m so mad, damn it. And, you can’t stand it.
I won’t hesitate to retaliate, ‘cause I’m irate on lies you regurgitate.
Requited love has capsized, with tears drifting past compromise.
Be forewarned that I am a woman scorned. I've been cutting cords, since the day I was born.
Even with all the flesh you steal, my soul will eventually heal.
It’s not in my will to concede, even when I’m willing to bleed.
Click, click, boom!!! That’s the sound of your lies exploding across the room!
I have a pet peeve not to be naive, but I still grieve when you tend to deceive.
You sharpened the knife, then the blade cut open your life. Despite all the strife, you never severed from your wife.
I can’t take it, but I will fake it.
Crimson fires at the seams.
Sleepwalking, barely talking.
Even though in my mind, I'm color blind.
Endless, endless, endless streams.
If I knew what was next, I could surpass the test.
Where is there, if here is anywhere?
So, let’s go. Oh! Here we go. Oh! Don’t say no. Oh! You must know.
Breathe between the lines.
Wild oats to sow, mending wounds as we go.
Fight resistance, and go the distance.
Fly, fly, fly. Try, try, try.
And, we’re not even halfway being done yet.
Hand in hand, the sum is greater than the set.
At last, the present is the gift of our past.
Hoping that the rise will continue to last.
We’re hitchhikers, on a journey to where time will take us.
You are my life, beyond your death. There’s something more, when there’s nothing left.
I hear a battle cry, and I don’t know why.
So, don’t rule me out, when you measure today.
An echo of truth lies in metaphor.
It's not sacrilege to embark on pilgrimage.
Take a second to give me a hand past this minute, to help me feel that I’m still in it.
Even hope needs a compass to get its bearing.
So, behind locked doors is where I will stay.
The rest can all be carried by the valet.
I’ve got too much on my plate. I’m being spoon-fed by the fork in the road, and I’ve already ate.
A chicken helped me cross the road, with a promise not to eat it on the other side.
I’m at the beginning of the end. There’s nothing more, I won’t pretend. I said it before, and counted score. I’ve come way too far to contend.
I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know where I’ve been. I don’t know if I’m growing. Someone please break me from this sin.
Inside, I've composed the rhymes that yearn to color outside the lines.
Am I the one to blame, when you forgot my name, and I dared to do the same?
My heart rips through the maze of your fingertips.
I never knew such things would compromise my wings.
I tried. I lied. I cried. I died.
I Don't Know Where to Begin
Leave the Light on For Me
I'll reserve my screams for my dreams. It's just to save face for the chorus.
In this moment in time, I must find my rhyme. Not a moment too late, not too early to wait.
Yet, I'm so discrete that I only whisper my secrets to a dead parakeet.
It's only the second verse, and things are getting worse. This Ebola crisis is making me curse.
I've got a shackled rabbit foot in my pocket, and a picture of a baffled turtle dove in my locket.
I'm freewheeling every breath that I'm stealing. I've paid my dues to camouflage the blues.
My verse stands with merit, even without a button to edit.
You can find the directions written on the back of your will, if you're willing to confront the point of a feather quill.
Tomorrow will antiquate today, so remember me from yesterday. The day after is always a mainstay of the day before.
I hope that's apropos for me to kiss you under the mistletoe. I'll be missing you wherever you go.
Where does this story begin? Can forgiveness be greater than the sin?
I must retain my composure, despite my willingness for disclosure.
Even though we've just begun, I'm not the one, until the battle's won.
Ghostbusters: Landreth's Revenge
I had second thoughts about the second hand of the clock, but my third eye always winded first.
The fire of combustible love has left undesired ashes of our souls.
I wished upon a four-leaf clover for this romance not to be over.
I did my best to forgive you, when you lied about the pregnancy test. With all I invested, I detested a child that never existed.
So, here's the deal. Wounds will eventually heal. But, first give back my heart that you decided to steal.
I won't perpetuate to dedicate this song to you.
It's such a drain to harmonize the pain.
I am not implying that we extinguish the flame.
There's a murmur in the echo, yearning to be heard just the same.
Our words are verbs that's dying. Our lives contrive to do the same.
A second coat of paint won't restore luster to the walls. I wasn't out of practice. Falling in love graved the falls.
I would cut my wrists with blades of grass, if it means the grass would finally get cut.
Sue me if you must, but as your landlord, you must pay rent on time, or lose my trust.
You screamed when you found our bodies buried in the basement. Such a grave moment to remind us that we're through.
I insist on closure, so my therapist is a real estate agent. I dream of home across this threshold of open house bliss.
For every sold-out concert, I'm never selling my soul, except for the music that is the selling point of my soul.
The doctor diagnosed me as home sick. So, I'm painting this road yellow, brick by brick.
My soul is rooted in the lawn. Don't fence me out like a weed stealing dawn.
Sticks and stones did break my bones. This time, names did hurt me.
You were left to inhale the paint thinner that wielded emergency calls.
I detect that this song would play better if I were an architect.
I'm not with my shortcomings, but I'm taking measures to rise from the fall.
Strangers tend to glare, ever since I ran out of clean underwear.
Like a child who is lost in the wild, I pray to be adopted as the Prodigal Son.
I am here, when I'm not there. If all roads lead to Rome, may they take me back home.
Breadcrumbs have gone stale. I never received my forwarded mail.
The thrill of holding pinwheels, while riding Ferris wheels that race windmills, has circled back to leave me still.
I hate to eat and run, but I've got to get back home before this song is done.
If in this task I may come to fail, then send to Hell my forwarded mail.
I don't mind, if I lose my mind. Just be kind, rewind.
What'd you say, Norma Rae?
Like a pawn, I'm a gnome, that's spawn upon the lawn. I have grown, in this home, with every seed I've sown.
I'm no stranger to danger, but I'll wager it's stranger to favor this dance of destiny.
Is a rant a chant, or just something to recant?
Destiny has incriminated me. Set me free. Break through to clarity.
It's my time to burn. It's my time to learn. If only just one chance. If only just one dance.
Wake up, wake up, wake up. It's time to get up, get up, get up. Rise above the fold. Break against the mold.
A gardener is a seed, but I am just a weed.
The landscape is unpaved and wrecked. I am the architect of this sect.
My life echoes in a trash receptacle. The voice I hear is less than reciprocal.
I'm betting you think that I'm a gambler, but the wager is the endeavor.
I am the pawn who was pawned. The grass is still scorched from the cross burnt on my lawn.
The wedding singer was a dead ringer for the best man cheater.
My heart throbs, as I turn the door knob. The carcass of a raven makes me sob.
Why did I accept the will to inherit this Amityville?
A blind man's creed is to undo the deed withered by a neglected seed.
I'm doing the jig of three little pigs, as the wolf romances my door.
I must be insane to lick the rain from the window pane.
I must digress to confess that the holy water only stained the walls with a mess.
I am baptized when I perspire. I christen this song as "The Will of Desire".
Put the jukebox on repeat, and get your ass out of your seat.
It's my endeavor to sever all ties bound by lies. By chance, this romance is at its last dance.
As the story unfolds, the control of my soul gets tangled by the strings, as the Siren sings.
Compose another episode before you decompose... I suppose.
I'd rather take a gander at the outlander, than except second-hand slander.
Complaint, irate, for the fate dished on my plate.
If anything was like before, then I look forward to whatever life may hold in store.
Shine our boots with axle grease. Ruckus, ruckus, ruckus to break the landlord's lease.
Singe those wings, and burn like a flame. Daring, daring, daring, to combust peace and love.
This song's dedicated to the fallen sun. Burn your bra until justice is done.
I am dead, and I don't give a damn. Bring me back to life as a hologram.
There's a penny in my pocket. On my neck there is a locket. My thoughts are paid to me tax free. Picture this as the summary.
It's incredible, so unforgettable, even wonderful, that it's memorable.
Life paints with the color of rain. Even a window can leave a stain.
This city was built on Rock 'n' Roll, but it's paid for by the highway toll.
I have two fingers on the pulse of society, as a test of its level of sobriety.
Yesterday is today, when it was tomorrow. Time is measured by the moments you perceive it.
The sands of time composes the grit of my rhyme. I am an opus from alpha to omega.
Every time I hear a bell ring, it makes me smilie and start to sing.
If it is such a wonderful life, then why is there so much living strife?
A revelation of my genesis brings forth a vision of winged Pegasus.
I hope this site is not a passing fad, 'cause I think it's so amazing and rad.
Title: Regress (More is Less)
Title: Hoc Etiam Transibit
Title: I Missed My Bus, It's Raining Outside, and Somebody Stole My Poncho from My Desk at Work, Just Like How My Favorite Umbrella Got Stolen Last Week
Title: Reciprocal Dilemmas
Title: Just Press Play (Again)
Title: First Time Revisited
Title: You Already Know the Title
A boomerang of pantomime reenacts the path of my time.
The chords are rather complex. The end begins the Phoenix.
Double-talk whets my appetite, then regurgitates the parasite.
I can't escape what he's after. Ladders still outreach the rafters.
Who, what, when, where, why, and how. A moment of past seems like now.
Equestrian, to give this rein. Pedestrian, to take that reign.
When I dance with the leading wind, my shadow fails to comprehend.
I'm falling down the stepping stairs, grabbing onto the rails in pairs.
I've been through this discourse before, with every down beat of the score.
The feeling's mutually intense. Pivot the past in present tense.
Dandelions, flowers mask weeds. Skinning trees for leaflets and seeds.
Instigator, light and shadow. Pronouns, verbs, sentenced as shallow.
There is a need to take this time to bleed. Words are wounds that define will to succeed.
It's fortunate that you have found my will, because I am dead, lying here so still.
It may surely seem like I read something, but it's really a whole lot of nothing.
I'm well-versed in the meter before us. It's time to repeat the background chorus.
The translation may be written down wrong. Rewind to the beginning of the song.
Shifting library of albums and books, an excursion, a chameleon of looks.
I'm blind to the words that are set in Braille. The lack of pictures tell a different tale.
I saw a pineapple, so I ate it. Now there is one perched, staring right at me.
I yearn to be an aficionado. Don't mute my vibrato with staccato.
I heard the song filled with ones and zeros. I dreamed to be awake with the heroes.
Truth wades in a pool of formaldehyde. Lies for encyclopedic genocide.
I resent the fact that I must repent for every last murmur of sentiment.
Hope was blind to the lighthouse at the dock, and purged by the second hand of the clock.
I've heard this babble spoken once before. Infectious characters I did ignore.
At the curtain call, I bow with little fanfare. The darkness betrays me with every glance and stare.
Every moment is a breath that I take. A simple pleasure that I must not forsake.
I'm finding it rather uncanny that I'm framing picturesque insanity.
Somebody slap this whining, weeping willow, so I can go back to bed with my comfy pillow.
I dare to see if the tree is more bark than bite. I snap branches to instigate a fight.
I snicker at the flicker of memorable days. Flashes go by - will I ever change my ways?
War is upon us, and critics predict this show to bomb. I don't read all reviews, 'cause I need to stay focused and calm.
I fell in a ditch, and I will need stitches. Back to my roots with a leap of six feet.
The noose around my neck is tight on me. I live, I die, either way I still cry.
Inside or outside, either side of the door. Wherever I stand, hinges as before.
Can't escape retweet, a trending #hashtag. Viral dialogue of social yin-yang.
I sang this same song, treble without bass. Leader of the band, who I won't dare to replace.
The wailing of trees signal a disease. A blanket of leaves, yet I still shiver and sneeze.
I'm drenched in the stench of wretched wench, without a clue how to woo or even subdue.
Every second times out to be the same. Wearing a red hood, any wolf may stake its claim.
Why are Sundays included in the weekend, when it's the start of the week?
The moment I dared to care less and flake, in just one blink - "payback" - for the child I forsake.
She said her name was Lady Marmalade, and it brought back a scare. The summer of '74 was in the eyes of the child she did bear.
It is an ongoing trend to begin where I end. The feeling is mutual, even habitual.
Am I here, or am I there? I must take care to be somewhere.
I'm trying to cope with the twist of kaleidoscope. Every turn is another moment to relearn.
I saw myself as a need to know myself. Becoming me, I drowned in a sea to flow myself.
Song Topic: Animal Crackers
Song Topic: Relections in a Mirror
Song Topic: Afraid of the Dark
Song Topic: Twinless Twin
Song Topic: Breadcrumbs and Trail Mix
Pimping Ourselves as Hookers
Dummies After the Crash Test
Bring Me the Head of Jerry Brace...and Other Postmortem
We burn like prodigal sons, souls are flaring a shroud. Is life within the stars even allowed?
As we relish the taste of hope on our palates, we paint pictures of prosperity with our palettes.
As we thrust ourselves from the Earth's molten crust, we self-combust with a flicker of ash and dust.
I wondered if these skies would some day be where we embarked. A tired out humanity in a modern Noah's ark.
Today, we will become derelicts, lest we band together and re-write the lyrics.
As the end of the world approaches near, maybe we would fare better if we were cockroaches.
The applause kept us engaged in jobs. Performance residuals have made us frauds.
With every nuance of the seance, we struck a deafening chord with the ouija board.
Even the rich must make their best pitch, because some of us will get ditched.
Did we doom ourselves when we discontinued the 8-track? In penance, maybe we should have brought disco back.
Instead of gazing through a telescope, we should have phased ourselves through a microscope.
For whatever may unravel from the rift of travel, let truth sift through the babel.
The canvas awaits our palette, to streak with cosmic flair. What in the world were we thinking, when we accepted this dare?
We reach to the light, as we teach what is right. Wielding words from elders, hail to our soldiers.
Some of us are dead, some are living fodder. All are bred from seed dumps - call them our fathers.
But, I'm not one much to gossip, so pass it on to looser lips.
Will my hook ever be chosen, or will my words be left frozen?
I'm charging up a supernova, so this alien invasion can be over.
The fabric is therapeutic to woo me with the semantic.
The eclipse is written on my lips with verbiage that prophets cage.
If I shoot myself from afar, will any star wish upon me?
For whatever will transpire, let it breed the will to inspire.
Herbal thyme ornaments the taste to quench that our lives don't lay waste.
When the rhyme flows to extend the show, I'll cope with every last moment to grow.
For every nation in strife, there is a satellite of plight. As this sole space station echoes the soul of creation, let it speak the meaning of life.
It must be maternal instinct, that orbits us so distinct. We are grandfathered to evolution. Will we survive the revolution, or will it be our conclusion?
The quantum physics of stellar hieroglyphics is more than just a passing phase of shooting star gaze.
As we race in the name of the orphan sun, rays of light foreshadow our being as one.
You can trace my age upon my face, because time's rage feeds this living space.
Every dream claims its rite to occupy my veins. But, what is right, when the left hand is sleight in vain?