Nobody Likes You

 

Luk16:1-13; Mat8:22; 2Ki3:11; 2:23j; 1Ki19:15-21; 2:36-46; Ho2:1-4; Isa8:12-15; 29:13-16; 1Cor1:17-2:5; 2Sa16:5-10

1.

Nobody likes you, until you given up;

lost your colours in the Jinxes strew.

Shown, that you're but a shadowy buck;

a wraith on the wall, who ran out of fuck.

They want to see how your story grew,

before they pull the plug and catwalk a mew!

Amused for the dazed and confused: smug daisy duck!

2.

Pledging to honour your words and hold the line;

the moment you're back to work – “they have not eaten!”

while the breadcrumbs still on the lips chime.

You there not enough, to satisfy the lime.

Stoned into the Immurement, for sins what hath been beaten!

Nobody likes you, but Jesus, listen Heathen;

let your body be relieved from the battlefields of Life.

3.

Nobody likes your resolve, until it serves their purpose;

when you tag along or rally their flags and anthems.

Forgotten invisible, the moment you need to purr poised;

cold shoulders telling the tale of fairy's who broke the hose.

Like a mosquito in a vacuum, before ripped apart the Shanters –

Trust in the Holy Spirit, and find your path through their antlers!

Stand on the roofs undeterred, to marry you Gomer, Hosea!!

4.

Nobody wants your holy grounds, but to take a piss;

see your golden walls, but to paint charts and graphics –

those Giraffe's and geared Alps, giving Iron Maiden a kiss:

“Who are you, to die on that hill, not even on my list, you wish!”

no Gerard to serve your summons, no ghostknight fan-fix

but a trotting fox, stomping their boots on the gourd, just for clicks.

They had their reward, you move on to the Greatest Hit their missed!

5.

You're the Rock and Hard place, Jesus built His throne!

Ye ravens and wolves, leave the mirror empty behind –

nobody likes you, but you can Love for the Crown.

Be that Heroine, they called too girly to stand alone!

Man of God, accept your fate, let them bury their blinds;

those who walk on waters and mountaintops, not lost but defind –

this is your chance to fine your own charges, and say the Bone!

6.

You're the Hoe, what Jesus takes to plough and reap;

Gomer offered as bride to take away doom and gloom!

Listen Callous, be Sanctified like Tanya, even weighed cheap;

for don't fear the Meneh Tekhel from Shimei, horns he shall keep!

Be that powder, what grows Jinx to Cornerstone the Boom –

Scandals are to catch the Bear with me, baldie, come down soon!

Be my Holy Fool, Hey broker, even then Abyss gazed deep!!

Elves United

 

1.

Dancing on the debris of Fromm pedigree, as your destiny

to distinguish a child from an adult, for the Porn night.

The corsage was lit, so was the tux the greatest shit but tiny –

destitute, the clits lost its P cliché for the award whiny...

Framing the poetry for the sake of audience, out with the lights;

the nightingales shall soon be following the ashtrays in tights!

Who dost love a Robin Hood story tuned Max Payne in a buy me?

2.

What value has not been diluted with lamp-oil and snake-oil sales;

to jail any free tinker, who would Jinx in their Arcade for Jubilee?

For all hath been creators and gods, but shall fall down from Yale;

dying their hair pink, like Harward, for God is dead, the G's staled

Him. Would the next forest Hermit please stund up and be Slim-Spree!

Who wouldn't think of the children to avoid Nazi, at least Naši gale;

Pedos the new Pretorians, who raise the flag of stagnation in stains.

3.

Snake eyes to the guys, who cosplayed high elves and forgot a white ork;

it was supposed to lead all the others to the promised land, as promilled

by Genova. His witnesses dyed their hair white, ambitions in green-york.

I don't need a church to read the Bible, or tell a savant from a dork!

I mill free cards to search-tree the house of ours, the cars scar killed

the plain and simple thrill of having nothing to slay, but a close shave til'

the next Becket spills his blood for the King of England and fork.

4.

Uniting the elves, what need no ring of Chowder, to get loud;

the lions who could laugh at their own discretion either-or!

Denned between a cornerstone and the chosen bread of clouds.

Only the Ravens could tell the tale, untitling the tilted ploughs;

The camels who smoke sheep for breakfast neither bored

nor confused by the contemporary sciences silence the Lord.

Who could check their credentials to cast out demons, Hound?

Point of Hew

 

1.

As specs con the spectator sub specie jumping the gun;

the sepulture of the void, was reading the Hew brewed new.

I wanted to stew some stern thoughts contemplating my stoic run;

simulation had some glitches no games to plain the script stunned.

Whatever the champions of Hewbrews said: “Nothing Cerial but post-due!”

packages for the random indominant anthem of baseless clues;

to be post-All unhinged in the power creep for the next pun.

2.

Hun, did you C my slippers or was it formatted Attila.xls?

Casual inquiries diary the dialysis of societies ovaries;

when everything brushed effeminate to be bossed in excess.

Grl-Pwr like the roar of a predator Praetor clutching nicked chests;

the crosses there marked to the lost souls to market canaries;

the point what was made, was strewn together in the itinerary.

The message got lost in the translation and taken hostage lest –

3.

Couldn't tell, if the ghouls there shelling sharks, or snarky coms linked,

the next Sephiroth to abandon his genepool. It depended on the point,

what was somewhere in between the Apogee and hallmarked thinks;

hues, too blues, to be brothers in arms, but still almed some Rolex kinks!

I had to spark the conversation, but my connection timed out of joints.

All over the place, as the shattered virtuosos there craving for loins,

countepoise; hammers and anvils. The antlers and cucks there jinxed.

4.

Protecting the Sirens to sound war to the sound of silence, lest

one single drunken sailor, could escape the transition from Alive

to woke, still not dreadnaught enough to not best.

Sound asleep are our leaders, bottoms feeding sheepest;

new words and corrected hews, to shine right hive.

Whilst the underground peers to the east, selling five –

West was renamed to New-South Bronx, for the context.

True Villain

 

1.

Its not the Army of great Power, the nation of Prowess;

not the Warlock Ultimate, who casts spells through the night.

It is a Woman, who wants to tame your More to less;:

to either or your big score, then you create a new chess.

When all hath been created, she will become your bride;

to give you peace, then you long for the last stand and rite.

Behold, soldier you are called for betters than duress!

2.

Its not the treason, what rends flesh, nor the poison of the quilt;

its the friends, who understand, but want to hold on to the kiln!

For what hath God to do Belial's or divine with mundane bills;

venture on your thorny spires, and don't care when spit is willed!

For those who cast stones, hold onto altars horns, who praise chill,

change their mind like Wind. Just as forsaken Jesus at Golgatha hill –

don't relent on yours Gethsemane just to win a Pilates hilt...

3.

Its not the weakness of the flesh, nor the meekness of the soul;

its your own family, you need to leave and let them go!

For just as in marriage does, the Man forsakes his own as foul;

to seek what He was destined to, for Love eternal he but could!

May the Lion roar at markets, or the Bear your ways turn: Lo' –

stand your ground, for All-Mighty with you, He'll make through

them like a torrent of Hail-fire, cast you from His Right hand mould!!

Stand Up, Comedian

 

1. Stand up, Comedian, as you coom in the redial;

   go Median, chasing after the Minotaur, with no cord.

   Real Men don't Tate on Faith; One Hate hares the white

   rabbits belate. I choose to reject this poisoned vial!

2. Stand from your Alms Race, embarrass the lukewarm grace;

   laughing at Ego to Id is not mid but the Holy Grail!

   Fame the untamed mane of your Pride, not in line;

   let the blind fellow the one eyed King, as they forget face.

3. Stand for all of Us, to be the product and firmament we need;

   to breed, bleed, heed and feed – no pardon on this list.

   Sometimes Wormwood or vinegar, a little bit honeycomb;

   the gilded shower Zeus fucked Danae, so Perseus could Read.

4. Stand like Solomon, born of incestuous Love;

   the firstborn was slaughtered, and He hidden under Jedidiah.

   Those, who are loved by God, can still forsake as brats –

   remember thus and Damocles your turtledoves.

Road to Perfection

 

I

Don't give a fuck then it rains cats and dogs;

running men, virgins, ho's pitchforks with dorks.

Don't suck up to the risen torch, what tries to log

you into the shelve, like a forest-elf, to be soggy

of missed opportunities, then you talked to the hand. Embark

on your Heroes journey, You alone can muster in the dark.

Many ents and hallmarks will try to poison your road.

II

Don't eat the breadcrumbs left over by the children;

for they lead under the table to be sitting on laps.

You be formula-1 and do circles around those cauldron;

let the witch be baked into a pie, while you take Tron!

Road to Perfection is paved with many tears, perhaps

it is better to eat wormwood with vinegar, entraps

of pitty-pie and other cutie lies dine fears in a den.

III

Do the raindance and be God, raise your horns –

only Victors shall tell His Story to be carved in stone!

Sell your soul to your Truth, and walk on sworn

for your duty. Who cares, how many outworn

soles you left behind the road, to Hell and bone

the next lichlord for your grand entrance to Homer!!

But many wanton fare well, not endanger the newborn...

IV

Don't give a fuck, not one step to look back;

what is glimmering in the back, while Sodom

and Gomorrah are burning down! Hack

your own path and carve your Glen in Black.

Why circle the wagons on a dogs bark, Mulder –

none shall come to Bama, to give marriage boredom.

Be your own thunder, to hail down the Mount crack!

V

Lead your own cheers, and cast thy fortuned fates;

why should you trust in competition, and their soothsay!

Many leds astray, failed to be turned in gold rate

Emo, while not even Amoled to shine in the brade.

And then it was gone, was it even there or nay?

Why should you wait, until some merchant sway:

to tell you for a dime, when to start preaching Tate!

Need for Godspeed

 

Keygen Church Master Boot Record

I

People reason, I think – I Am, then go

to the parlour and have a drink. Let it sink

in, you are what you eat; but for the show

must venture – let me charge your blow:

2 cents for the price of 5 and 10. Some start to tinker

on their bells and seashells, for the silver-tongued glimmer.

Could they eat all the molasses from the bowl...

II

Need for Godspeed, while hitting the breakdance;

rapping on heavens door, too thorn but still meek.

Heathen, but still wreak of the pies de resistance;

the Chaos, what wants to mate with Eris, hence

to beget Harmonia; just to behold, eat your steak

of the Sons, or be overthrown by Zeus bleak!

What will you leave behind, what will you enhance?

III

The Greater Good and Evil, are your True or Farce;

people thinking, their way is the only One, not many.

I Am Hungry – thus many had to take the charge;

few succeeded, most ate sour grapes, enlarged

the dragons and shadows on the walls, manic

in their stupor for giving up. None shall stand thus –

for we failed, its impossible, play possum, Marge!

IV

Havoc in the Maverick dance of chance, still mad;

why did your folly make way, not mine, concubine?

I severed and plotted on gold-diggery now an old hag;

young Sophias venture and get their Prince Charming, rad!

Scorned in Hell, turned Harpy and Gorgon, but I am Fine –

ticketing the competition with angry bulletines, boarding in line;

for the shine, what no rainbow, may pot a leprechaun Brad...

V

What is your IQ or IC or Duh, to be the next Archimedes;

who ran about nude, for Heureka, and a goldsmith lost

his head, most just Emperors Immortales impedes this.

Most knowledge is the dance around the hot porridge, gist

about sleeping in the right bedroom, before the Bears host

some pick the right bed for your happy ending at thy cost!

Some young foxes still hard noggin, to avoid bollocks chemes.

VI

Why should your Sun Shine and your Moon Night;

your Star Glow and your river flow to the promised land!

Many Magicians Arlequin their way to imp-famy blight;

then blame it on the black dog, who ate their homework rites.

Its always the dark side, who's to lame, that your light bland

didn't show. Alas, maybe its the avoidance of dirty your hands:

what differed, to deny access to the fruits of labour on sight.

VII

Who was the seventh generation saint, who a century Oxe;

some walked a mile on water, others burnt their bodies to prove it!

Who trampled snakes and ladders under the boot, Heel, Knox –

too much white dwarf seldom makes a gent, but more orcs,

than you can fit angels on a needles eye, to make a tweet.

Silvester ate the birdie before you could put white sheets

on your green fields of golf – Alf wanton to crash in your works.

VIII

What is your altar, and the piss, to mar the fire;

the infant to not know it all, while Zarathustra

comes back to town? Many forest sages, retire

to the demagogues and cog the Magog hire –

to wheel the spire of Orthanc. Others Schuster

their mustard seeds to let the Almond trees muster

enough air to Nike to cloud nr. 9 and sell tires.

IX

No more Root for the evil tree, no more beer;

not even beef. All eat vegan, while loathing Megan Fox.

Diluted with #HolyWaterR not even pirated, still sneer –

going analog, to molest the ability to offer different steer.

How dare you, that farts more than green dealers could coax!

There's the Y – metaphors screech in anthem to mox

the U into Pu to UPU the new UWU on the Walnut streets.

X

Sniffing the Digitalis, I wish on the next mistletoe;

my heart failed to murmur in the silence of solace.

I had to venture deeper in the rabid hole of Erewhon;

staring my mirrored self, snakes in the grass goes

to the maple leafs, to make em the next shoe lace!

Who sees black-white-red, who draws spades Ace –

hotshotting the spot others missed to scratch a brow.

XI

“What does it meme, Steve, I'm on steam, why;

let me believe, but I found a lie in your I'm fine!”

So many want to carry over their res-pond-cybille with a Ty;

then surprised, then Charon didn't wanna comply!

Deaf are the ears to the lazy parker, who walks back in line!!

If you have started to step out, go all the way, not for signs!

No Star has been carved on the broadwalk by mature hire...

XII

Two get into backstage, the bad girls and the band;

the gazelles and those who can predator the savanna.

If you wanna be respectable, give it up, just stand –

bye, you had your chance, but hares don't drink grand!

They will never taste the bubbles upper-champagne;

to cream with the crops, the big cheese a campaign.

Yet you wish on your thinking, that you deserved a hand.

XIII

What have you done, to rip out your guts and gore;

to shore with your force Majeure, for Godspeed.

Maybe its still morrow, and listening to ho ho ho –

you can await some more, being busy Martha for

only the brave and the bold shall get the needs

met, while dodging angry shotgun shells, no reeds

can stand, while they cuck in the wind: “Yes milord!”