Like a pen and pad of loose leaf filled front to back
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with bad ideas and tales of loose teeth.
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Like diaries of rivalries; cures for your anxieties.
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They travel through scores of tangled cords,
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hanging like a noose from every word.
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Like therapy running through your veins,
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tapped to the needle of a record player.
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Like lyrics on the walls of bathroom stalls.
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Like hit songs written in your friend's garage.
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It don't matter if no one hears it.
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It don't matter. Nights like knives on 45's.
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It don't matter if no one hears it.
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It don't matter. Rhymes blow minds like perfect crimes.
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Like waking up with two black eyes,
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the first time that you realize
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there's a price to pay for standing up when everybody's sitting down.
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Like a first French Kiss, your first clenched fist…
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split lips worn like gold awards.
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Like knowing in your heart that you don't care when everybody points and stares.
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Like a can of paint, baby, empty me into words everyone is afraid to say.
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Paint it on the front of the city hall.
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Stain it with lime on the schoolhouse lawn.
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Be free to be yourself for the times you find there's nothing else.
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Be free to make some noise.
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Fight, Fuck, Dance, Destroy.
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-----------------
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Knives On 45's
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| The A.K.A.s |
