I'm walking down by the street corner
Stabbed and bled, an innocent bystander Wasn't a martyr, wasn't ready yet Implying vengeance, wasn't dead yet Been called sick with savior syndrome I simply say salvation don't always fall on success Could I live a 'perfect' life, I still couldn't draft the poem And you'd make my mind delusion like the rest Had I took the hit not too long ago I'd spit on my grave too, I confess Copyright (c) 2003-2016 Joshua Ransom Packard
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A man surveys the battlefield alone, he's not one to take sides
But with this war he notices something new The oceans wax and wane in nuclear tides Bulldozing all the soft beeches from view A silent march fills the mute air as the ranks close in Their guns primed and prepared And so the bullets fly from the loner's mind at whim His destiny had been dared And he casts a shadow Which he doesn't understand He ponders his presence Grips his weapon tight in hand Should I kill this man Will He be on my side Knowing that what I did Was the only thing I tried Does nature favor those who walk the most erect Does He builds doors for those Whose paths are most direct He sees the road define a path in front of him But beneath it all is bare Long ago, before this concrete raped the earth There were roads built everywhere Chorus: There's a sign 10 miles high at the crossroad That directs him to what he's looking for "This way to Heaven" chimes the glyphs, inked in gold But without an arrow, tells him no more The clocks which beat their hearts To the tune only of the sun Dedicate their lives to caging us in To a life of misery and failure Dictated by deadlines That cut efforts too short for us to win So when the zenith over my head houses the sun My wanting gaze drifts above In search of what kind force this Universe is run Because I don't feel this thing called love Chorus: There's a sign 10 miles high at the crossroad That directs to what I've been looking for "This way to Heaven" chimes the glyphs, inked in Spirit But without an arrow or voice, he (must) refused to hear it Copyright (c) 2003-2016 Joshua Ransom Packard I'm listenin to the telephone
To a voice that's not my own And I think I'd call it sexy With a hum that just drones And a loop-around moan What would ya tell me? Is the country coming back up the drain Is that boy dead or is it a feint Oh, that flag just don't wanna be plain People going fishing along the street Catching every girl they meet An accomplishment that is such a feat Keep talking. soon they'll come around You can't be ignorant in this town Soon they'll see what others have found What's that? You say, Baby You say deaf people don't listen No, they ain't deaf, they just don't know what they can hear And What's that? You say, Baby You say crying eyes just don't open Nah, baby, they ain't blind, it's just hard seeing (clear --) through the tears And I'll tell you baby Remember one thing, "We Can!" Yeah Try to open your mind When you find out how, it comes clear What you can't read in books Is how to read them dirty looks The ones ya get in the palace There's a host of all creation Ignites cool imagination That ya can't drink from a chalice Keep looking down on me with disdain Coz I'm swimming in the English rain I pity whoever isn't insane You know it pays to be discrete And what you are is what you eat And what you are is never complete There's mysteries abound Watch the walls ricochet the sound And when what you want's in front of you, better turn around And What's that you say baby Huh, crippled people can't walk No, baby, they ain't lame Just never been outside their own block And What's that you say, baby? Mute voices can't sing. What? Nah nah nah nah hey baby. I can't sing -- just don't stop me from doing my thing And I'll tell you baby Remember one thing "We Can!" Yeah Try to open your mind Pretty soon you'll be feeling it in the air (Don't badger 'bout my no creativity CD And pest me 'bout what the songs mean to me me me The laser pin moves on and the tracks they change But the spirit is established and the song remains the same Pop- pop- pop muzik Talk about... Pop Muzik) Copyright (c) 2003-2016 Joshua Ransom Packard I've gotta job, a job I don't know if I can do
It's a job that's calling both me and you For its been ignored for the longest time By all those except ones of the strongest kind We let it pass without response for so many a century The horrid flame has been burning us with such fury We tell ourselves its best not to be burnt today And its scorching heat just pushes the most of us away But it can be put out, yes it can, if we all sang in tune If we all waited for a cold night under a quiet moon And gathered water together in a heated war on the fire But I'm told what it takes is much more, the price much higher It takes lots of money to be a good influence on the kids It takes all kinds of weather for the mud to be rid It takes every best effort to see what's under the lid It takes all the right reasons to put in the highest bid So we sit and wait perhaps, for a rain to put it out But the clouds don't ever visit, blessed storms never come about We wait for bold heroes who carry swords of freezing steel But that warrior's calling not a one of us feels We've been told were we to band together we'd be devoured one by one So we stay away, and swim in cool ponds, trying to find fun But we hear on the other side the flame claims many a child's life It kills many a man's sons and daughters, leaves a widow of his wife How can the flame be diminished when its power seems so vast With every attempt to fight it, it seems stronger than the last What it takes is a weapon like any only the dead ever knew To fight the ranks of flame, to strike true and break through It takes every chord you know to backup the warriors cry It takes every truth on earth to accompany any lie It takes the magic of a wizard to drown out the fear of a coward It takes the time of a clocksmith to make ripe a fruit that's soured It takes every human being to create a world of free people It takes all the best boats to attract the smartest seagulls It takes the bloodiest words to get a glimpse of any truth It takes all the riches money to buy all a ticket at the booth It takes every played game to get a smile from all the bored It takes many helping hands to buy what you need but can't afford It takes every family's meal to fill the stomach of the hungry It takes too many a-dying child to put sympathy in the wealthy It takes all of our blood spilt before the blind see it's too much It takes every warped word for the blind to see them as such It takes all the worlds blasphemy to give praise to the Lord It takes all of harmony to rectify all of this discord It takes everything we know and love and all that we hate from above And all that ever confuses us for I'm sure that God chooses us We can We will I won't give up until The flame no longer burns It is for freedom I yearn Freedom That's what it takes Freedom For it I ache Freedom For all of you Freedom Would be a dream come true Copyright (c) 2003-2016 Joshua Ransom Packard There is a band of demi-gods
Who house the controls to the world They draw the heatwaves and the floods And decide when the wind should whirl I call them the Windmasters But you may call them Sirs Their voices are the supreme authority And lash out at those who don't concur They hold the reins to Acts of God You have to appreciate their power And it's irresistability As constant as an hour They've convinced you that their acts Are the will of an indifferent force Any well thinking man Will reply to that "of course" They've got their method engrained in you As familiar as your own phone number Its become ritual, you don't even think Of it as anything but detached plunder To you the ends (now) justify the means And deaths are as regrettable as burnt toast They feed off of that tainted opinion Like a parasite to its host And the rain washes away the blood Soon the sun will come out But not this time, I'm the weatherman And my forecast is a drought The battles are only as steep a climb As the stairs to the second floor But you can't get inside the house (til you can) Look at the door Copyright (c) 2003-2016 Joshua Ransom Packard Still ain't found what I was lookin for
Coz it ain't right in front of me yet I'm begging and crawling for more The congregation isn't set Dancing deep inside the heart Bleeding love from the eyes Preorder tickets for the pop tarts Beauty being privileged disguise Put the Messiah way in the back The needs of our many Outweigh the needs of your few Relocate to the reservation It's only a few Not a soul but my voice sings The front row, what a view Now it's even better than the real thing Reorganize this crew For the camera, I wish it blinked The front row, what a view Now it's even better than the real thing Yea, it's all right I think it's all right All set now, I think it's all right Tell the man in the back That he can turn on the lights Bring the glitz and glammer Up'a the front'a the bus The Messiahs on camera You too blot for us Dilute the stew I'm the New England Chowdah king The front row, what a view It's even better than the real thing This army's ready to bring it home Send the signal to your tube I ain't taking off this uniform I got pictures to prove Abnorms in the third world Can't get in my front row I kill only the best furs I'm not sorry but you gotta go ('cept you Miss Sarajevo!) Obsession That's my favorite perfume All the concessions I sell em inside my tunes Reorganize this crew For the camera, I wish it blinked The front row, what a view Now it's even better than the real thing s'What I says, what you do I'm a disciple of the King The front row, what a view Even better than the real thing Copyright (c) 2003-2016 Joshua Ransom Packard Our town has a landfill
It's just like every other landfill on earth It has all kinds of things Piled miles high with treasures gone past their worth A Great Wall surrounds the pile And a gatekeeper holds the key And if you get on the other side There is a large tax and a fee And everyone is willing to pay the fee To climb the pile is their responsibility That's what they learned as boys and girls Get to the top and prop your flag unfurled They heard: "It was something your daddy tried and failed to do Now leaving a mark is up to you" My walk to my work each day Brings me past the wall And rising high above the horizon I see another climber fall The climb is littered with bones of those who wasted away But they must carry on Those lives were given to heighten the pile So that greater power could be won How many more? How much longer? Will the stronger Please clean up the pile How many more? How much longer? How much longer To the top of the pile The landfill is littered with the dead But the climbers pay no heed They simply hold fast in their stead Not noticing their souls bleed For they care not the cost of their climb To never again see the outside They are the victims of a victimless crime Forever stained with their own pride At the top there is a stench they say The glorious stench of victory The prize of their long and hard essay Is rule over the humanity At the top there is only room for one Only room for one among the dead to live "Better to rule in hell than serve in heaven" But the air does misgive How many more? How much longer? Will the stronger Please clean up the pile From all afar sage prophets come Is this the mount He preached from? How many more? How much longer? How much longer To the top of the pile Copyright (c) 2003-2016 Joshua Ransom Packard I've been told to stop playing silly little games
Doodling nonsense on a once upon a time blank page But when I don't things as once were aren't the same I don't grow anymore but my mind begins to age I'm afraid of jumping the abyss that I might fall It sure looks lonely down there with all those people inside And I don't want to just be more writing on the wall But at least I'll die knowing (what I've done and) that I tried I can't ever be the best the I can be Because I wasn't taught that way Too much a drifter riding other's dreams I'll never be more than a stowaway You don't hear much about artists in my family tree I have fame and fortune that I was never heir to I'm both running from and towards responsibility Sifting through old parchment for what in me is true The size of the library I've found is overwhelming The size of my mind a severe disappointment My choice of company not very at all telling Of the reason's for their unwilling anointment I can't ever find the whole of me And never learn to seize the day Just a thieving drifter riding others dreams I'll never be more than a stowaway Copyright (c) 2003-2016 Joshua Ransom Packard So sorry
I can't be your friend I'm carrying much too little For me to lend you a hand Friendship How does it come about Stay away from those Who are down and out You see the drinkers Open mouths to their kin And the thinkers Have nothing in common (in common have nothin) So I'm very sorry I cannot be your pal Coz in your store Nothing is on sale And I don't save the day When you cry out For it's not a plea for help But a cop out Stay away from drowning people They'll only drag you under And after you've gone down Your body's theirs to plunder And I'm so sorry That I cannot share the wealth I'm much too rich To be offering any help See she's my type That is what I think And in case she isn't I'll offer her a drink Talk over a line So she can't see your face Liars are friends Who believe you at every turn If you don't know already Perhaps you'd better learn These things are all part of A body of common sense Before you can build a palace First you must build a fence And I'm sorry That I can't give you my time Your time is not yours As long as mine is mine So sorry I can't be your friend I can't worry bout you Enough to lend a hand... So sorry I know it's sick I'm so sorry Ain't it ironic Copyright (c) 2003-2016 Joshua Ransom Packard Don't you dread the nights, my fellow insomniac
Once it's about after ten, and there's no turning back No one awake and the stores are all closed The roots of this plague, not a soul knows Perhaps if I had someone to lie beside To talk for hours on end about everything I hide So I create by spilling ink on the page In hopes I'll be exhausted from all the rage I feel my mind tire though my body is awake Or could it be the other way around It is a slumber which I cannot fake Although my eyes are closed and I'm lying down Don't seduce me Don't sedate me I keep you tossing It's too late for me The fog is closing in The clock is in slow spin God, won't you help me Just strike me down The word is nebulous (The) Paper so porous I'm waiting for death Or the alarm to sound It's summer time, the heat is everywhere The fan doesn't help, it just stirs up hot air I'm sweating, swimming in wetness With no one around to be a comforting witness This is all part of a waking nightmare In need of a release but it's not there Whole night ahead but it becomes time to spare My mind is bulging but the page and pen don't care Don't seduce me Don't sedate me I keep you tossing It's too late for me The imperfections are all mine But they don't pass the time God, won't you help me Just strike me down Perfection gives me pause (A) reason without a cause I'm waiting for death Or the alarm to sound Don't you dread the nights, my fellow insomniac It's about after ten, and there's no turning back No one awake and the stores are all closed The roots of this plague, not a soul knows Don't seduce me Don't sedate me I keep you tossing It's too late for me "When I get writer's block, I write about writer's block." Copyright (c) 2003-2016 Joshua Ransom Packard |
AuthorMy name is Joshua Packard. I am using this site to share my song lyrics and get feedback and suggestions for future song compositions and lyrics Archives
September 2016
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