I am the apocalypse

I am the apocalypse
I am a paragon of innocence
I am the voice in the hall
I am the hole in your wall
I am the book on the shelf
Please tell me I am something else

You are the echoing sound
You are the walls around
You are the television
You are a hallucination
You are colossal wealth
Are you anything else?

We are the broken chairs
We are what is unfair
We are angels with clipped wings
We are those who do not believe
We are the empty seats
We are two left feet
We are the lost and found
We are the war bound
We are human brains
We are the insane
We are those who dismantle fate
We are everything that we hate.

The Ballads of Lenard Baxley

The Ballad of Lenard Baxley

To safeguard even the Lucinda the outgoing young had a hand in this. In 2002 they got the idea from the president, who was just an instrument for their plan. Using the clippers they went violently through the cotton field. The Lucinda has sent the address via the guard in which you call Bloomberg.
Smacking, and smashing the beer session at the coffeehouse with a shuffle dance as supple as the intolerable acts of the paths they take, like the animals they quiz. They where computing aimlessly for Butch Nash, while he asks himself that very question.”Where can he be?” Both the authorities hold a service on orthodox solutions. While he is reading of his routine of how he hides their mockery of his homelessness, and amore in Versailles without whomever. For without Bloomberg the only going track of all information would be lost, and the housewives with a violinist in the passenger seat would sure be dead.
Your class will learn how he sank in the quicksand trying to shift the tide but with no respond. Awkwardly neither includes the inanimate emphasis true. So those who are due in 2222 sing hallelujah with the same motive as he. He, now the elite, wears a halo amongst his head. The best halo ever, the only suitable for one of such greatness. Now as the hillbillies take view of his grave they read. “Isabella, the game is never over. Ha ha ha you will humiliate the young.”

The Second Ballad of Lenard Baxley

It was a dark winter evening in the Boston area. He had been walking the streets for the past six years. He had heard their stories a hundred times before. He had learned of his passing and his bravery, but never could he remember the name. He lit his cigarette with the smoking flame of the houses in a blaze. He had nothing in his pockets but a lighter and stone. He had never committed any major crimes before and nor did he plan to.
It was then, after 14 miles of trying to see through the snowy streets he saw a familiar figure of oppression. The Lucinda had been out of commission for centuries but he recognized that symbol anywhere. Enraged at the symbol he had grown to hate he pitched the stone which he had carried for miles only to miss. His poor coordination was his worst hindrance but this time it had been his greatest gift. He had discovered the Bloomberg which had thought to be lost years before the first temple had been established.
Almost as instantly had he placed the Bloomberg in his hands had he burst into flames. He awoke in the cotton fields of 2002 to find a man with a beard and a suit in tatters. As he approached the torn man the man asked him his name. Randy he said with great ease. The man was unsure if the man who wore a shirt claiming his likeness of muse was a vision or real. I am as real as the smoking flames of Boston declared Randy. He knew that his next day spent with this man would not be his last as he sat down beside him.

The Third Ballad of Lenard Baxley

As they step into the union unpermitted, the ship from Alaska to Antarctica had left. The unions had orders to box and terminate all unauthorized authorities. Those who opposed would be absorbed in the snow. Those that showed appease would be free to leave. The unborn shootout would manifest today. The misfits would run from the DOW dogs, fleeing Moscow, and the motherland would abandon her children.
In what seemed like another world Rockwell was bleeding. The uncivil war between men had become nothing but a scrub in the books. In some way they send unseen calls from wall to wall. No one knew how it was done, except for those who had control of the situation. The former base of Fordham Systems was now in a constant state of nightmare. One stood out amongst the puppets, with a body of stone and mind of glass. The UV light reflected his power. Even the largest Army couldn’t send him home, for he was the leader of that pack of hounds.
He shared his wisdom with future son. He told him that the world’s shape now will never be the same. His home will never exist again, and his strength will never be devoured. His heart will boil amongst those that carry theirs lukewarm. No mechanism other than the clock will show him the way, and no fear will freeze him. Every headstone and temple will be in the wrong name. A weekend in the city will show you that the bright lights of America have wings. Also that a palace on Mars cannot control the puppets, but shown them their strings. In his final words he said “I just think no, I focus on the link of lies no one can see.”

The Fourth Ballad of Lenard Baxley

It did matter how much they studied, nobody could identify the beginning. Just the same no one could predict the end. They had one lead, one place to start. The Lord surrendered one of his own in exchange for indemnification. Once he was guaranteed his price, Dublin became an urban hunting ground. The scenario seemed all too familiar. The man they were looking for was nowhere to be found. To the people of the city it seemed like nothing but a sunken dream, filled with cries from throughout the streets. When they came across a congregation of local alcoholics they knew found their prize.
They were dead before they even entered the human watering hole. The animals of this kingdom never impart one of their own alive. He alone took out two men. He still clasped their badges as tokens of victory. He left for his homeland when public pleasures became proscribe in private. He went by Stanley O’ Donnelly, such a frequent name for such an infrequent man. It was something no one would ever suspect.
Before the fiasco was even nearing its end he appeared as if out of nowhere. He left them unarmed and disoriented. Their visual perception had become distorted. Everything was a tint of ultra violet in their eyes, but everything was clear in his. If he were to change the world in which he lived, he would have to show them their arrogance and ignominy. When force to he would follow as he did in Rockwell until every last piece of the puzzle was together.

Done [What I Needed to Say Version One]

Done

It’s a sham I’m not a mute
I had no need to speak
Words were no useless,
There was no need to bring them out

Maybe that’s all a lie,
And what was said needed to be done
Ruined it for everyone but their self
Everyone went unknowing
Everyone had their own doubts

We all thought that
It was the end of the line
Thought we couldn’t repair the tracks
Going back, wasn’t an option
We knew it would happen anyway
I just sped up the process

Now we’ve put stupid things behind us
There was no reason to argue
You thought I said something
Completely different than what actually existed

We can go back now
To where we once were
Our own foggy circle
Finally repaired