arc words

They don’t listen to you if you don’t got the answer they’re looking for
you don’t want to believe there was ever
anything more than jealousy behind their underhanded compliments and painfully obvious omissions
and I won’t make you believe
anything that you weren’t raised to believe.
I’ll see this song come to an end one of these days
with cymbals and loud drums and a grand finale we can believe in.
Taking it slow in the final chorus with those real meaningful words
I heard back in high school
arc words for the story I wrote myself, and I wanna believe em.
Show your face if you’re not afraid
What are you made of? I’m made of stardust.
The sadness of a life in Texas where the kids cooked for their parents
and the parents worked real hard for their kids but it still wasn’t enough
on my right I am made of dust for generations.
And on my left intellectuals and public servants
a couple members of the clergy and an avante-garde composer with an affinity for zen buddhism.
It is what I am but it is not what I have become.
I have become failing grades and friendship
in desert compounds or the front seats of the jeep I used to drive
talking outside the doorway every afternoon and not talking in detention
and wandering together through the beautiful woods
or running through them.
Walking together to class and then not doing that
falling in love with my friends and a middle eastern god
and singing in somebody’s basement
working real hard to read long books that light fires inside me in one night, and write
not answering my phone or reading my email
and terror that strikes like lightning and fear that lasts as long as the daylight
fury I can’t direct aimed directly at people who probably don’t deserve it.
Black nights and sneaking off to bathrooms and sleeping
if not too much then not at all.
The magic of the ancient world means nothing to me
more than modern man in search of soul.
What are you made of? I’m made of iron
and I have become war.

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