It's simple songs
for they have not complex minds
as for music
the unwrit rule of it's not money
but it really is.
The answer is to lie, lie
story of fee-feels,
for a hunger never sated.
Talking of honesty
an act for emotional responses
in the dying spirits,
as they feed, feed on the energy
of the intonations.
The answer is to lie, lie
so they feed, feed
but find no nourishment.
For it's all thrown
at the stripper pole of fuck you
in the V.I.P room
as a pair of panties are dropped
for fame'n fortune.
The answer is to lie, lie
until your hearth
is a field of flowers lithe
pluck them not.
Was it like that
before they started feeding on
the flesh and gorge
the sounds and vibrations to
stabilize fungi brain ?
The answer is to lie, lie
and then inverse
to survive the illness
which festers.
I'll not be known
but I doubt the reaction was
the same pre-fame
they wouldn't have nothing
of that poetry bum.
The answer is to lie, lie
until your fingers
tells the truth instead,
as tears, tears drop.
For they try to
repeat history, but the result
is never the same
in the narrative of encodes
to tell a better story.
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