Vice Grip Throttle
A Stolen Piece Of God
Oh, so cold. Can't find a way to warm our souls.
We close our eyes and wait for salvation.
That won't come in a form that we will know.
As dust-mites: small in size, large in function,
We still wait...
Eons of time can fit on a dime.
Bones in the ground, covered in lime.
They give up their souls from down in their holes,
Replaced by those if they arrive in time.
Frozen in place relinquishing all of their form and grace, into all that crawls below in a place devoid of all we have known,
We stumble into God.
Beings, crawling, surging onward, burrowing, flying. The agony of eternity.
Ride. Our suffering is still alive.
There are so many souls asewn, and centuries of Harvest Time.
Old, like the ones who came before us.
Old, like the ones who felt the fire when it first sprung forth from Hell.
Ride. Our pain has not passed us over, there are too many fates to fall. Your creeping shadow may not be your own.
Old, like the ones who rode the Pale Horse.
Old, like the ones who came to burn your kingdom to the ground.
You gave your employment away.
You rode, delivered, then gave it away.
You rode, retired then gave it to me.
Ride. There's no escaping our demise.
I pass the torment on to you, and patiently await your Harvest Time.
It's time to go, saddle-up the brand new Highway Star.
It's gonna roll, King of the road kill, leaving an asphalt scar.
Thunder on rubber, eighteen wheels are gonna make you pay.
Jack-knife, taking lives from Alabama to L.A.
No control, white crosses burn in the veins.
Down south, this cargo-carrier went insane.
Slow down, at this pace someone's gonna get killed.
Run to the hills!
Beneath the painted image of "Dante's Hell" above his head, he lights his last Winston, then prepares to kick some lead.
Three "Hail Mary's" utter from the corner of his mouth.
One last run, under the gun, special delivery from the south.
(middle part-jibberish. Lol)
Long Way To Go
Recently, I found a way to open up my mind.
I didn't know how far to go, or what I might find.
Scent of gasoline. Memories of pain.
Unfullfilled dreams. Going against the grain.
Walking 'round inside myself, adjusting the controls, I swept all the goddamn dust and cobwebs from my soul.
More efficient, I put away my pain.
Sutured my incisions. I'm feeling whole again.
But I still have a long, long way to go.
Such a long, long way.
Weeding out all the garbage that I kept inside, I left those goddamn demons without a place to hide.
Breathing deeper, self-improvement.
Fooled the Reaper. Brain-pan movement.
I'm walking with my head held high.
I'm walking 'til the sun goes down.
I'm walking 'til sea meets sky.
I'm walking 'til there ain't no ground.
It feels like frustration.
It feels like deliverance.
Why is it, everything wants to be between my ears at the same time?
It would be okay if they'd just get along.
The buzzing that ensues usually sends me spiraling downward, just to escape and rejoin my thoughts.
It feels like frustration.
If feels like coming home.
(random jibberish. Lol)