ο προσωπικός διπροσωπισμός μου

με την μάσκα μου για ατου μου να κοιτώ με τα πλαστικά μου μάτια τα πλαστικά μάτια της μάσκας του εχθρού μου

Τετάρτη, 22 Αυγούστου 2012

massive shit


The boxes are grey, the classes are pretty
The children are young, the girls are beautiful
We have pencils
The teachers have houses; the pictures are on the walls
The boys are at schools, the mothers have babies
The pianos are old, and yet
We have pencils

The countries are still murderers, the cops ‘re still problematic
Our minds are still breathing, but also dying slowly at some attic alongside with old furniture and score eaten closure
Businesses still running and innocent blood still flowing
Books’ still being burned but thanks god we have TV’s
If someday my cell phone breaks down I’ll lose a hundred of friends or so
Then I’ll buy three new ones and become more socialized than ever
I’ll be complete when I’ll be able to think about the world and feel happy
Given that I’m not on drugs trippin at the time
When the war is over peace protesters will fund a new one so they can protest once more
The sky is blue when it’s not white from the napalm bombs
They said that flowers give hope, but there is no flowers left at Syria no more
The pianos are still old and forgotten and art still don’t cost shit
Money’re red, still painting the American flag
Every war a white star

My hands still workin but my arms are broken
Che’s still a t-shirt logo
My hands still workin but my arms are broken
Cause art cost a fuckin fortune if you don’t know what art is
My arms are broken but my hands still workin
And even if art costs, I have a pencil to write me down

The boxes are grey, but their screens are colorful
The classes are pretty, as long as students have shit in their heads
The children are young, still they have psychological problems
The girls are beautiful, and already preparing to become sluts
We still have pencils
The teachers have homes, with no libraries in them
The pictures are hangin’ on the wall, hanged by the dead memories
The boys are at schools, doing prison life seminars
The mothers have babies, which have cancer scribbled on their fates
The pianos are old but their music still has a revolutionary tone in it

My arms are broken but my hands still workin
And even if art costs a shit or two, we have our pencils
To write us down.

ακυρηλες στην αρχη κατι σαν ασκηση αγγλικων (μπορει και λαθος) που βρηκα σε τετραδιο του αδερφου μου. εκατσα και εγραψα και αλλες ακυρηλες και βγηκαν στιχοι. ελα ρε

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