Battle of the Night

These nights and i can’t exist together

The world is big but not big enough for this conflict

Guns drawn, knives sharpened for the battle of the night A fight for everyone to watch

Peeled skin, nasty sins and darkness in the denizens Preachers words slide out the kids ears again, outstretched like the sense to my opinions
Going to win again, no i doubt it

London hides my starry night, my fight will end in the delight
Every time i look into nights eyes i see more inconsistencies We watch each other closely, brothers separated at birth
We have to prove our relation first, but we all knew that night was my dear brother

He was the bastard child

But i was the prodigal son and the attention shifted like i was the diabolical one

Let’s have some fun, i’ll kill as many of your agents as i can, and i won’t run

The battle of the twilight, blood and loud drums

Meat and stunned faces, the thought of not having a sun becomes a reality
I blast through the Earth messing limbs In the air that night
Smashed like a bug, wishing i could go back to one of my mother’s hugs
All the drugs and snug opportunities all of sudden seem so severe

I have one finger left that pulls me up the mountain

Night has past and sun has arouse
I can’t breath, i can’t see but i can feel

The ravaged lived by night and the kings oversaw the day

I was neither, just a piece of bright violence splattered on the learning board of a generation
I wanted to call myself a hero, but first i had to start with a person

 

WARMONGER IN THERAPY: Nothing Last’s Forever

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Learned tonight that it’s rare that something lasts forever, and that Life is just a cruel game. It’s why some of us resort to Metal and Hardcore music, because it’s a mild obscenity to the world that you can throw up. I don’t want to hear about love, and sex and kissing, all that bullshit. Like come on, where is the cutting, the hate, throw a little violence. Life isn’t fun, life is a bad joke that has a fucked up punchline.

Tonight is a turning point in the Warmonger in Therapy. I decided that i may not have as many close allies as i thought before, which is a perfect background to become an author. A lot of people highly doubt my ability to write let alone publish three books in less then a year. They doubt my skill, my resources and my ability to even stay alive, luckily i actually quite enjoyed THE ARTIST so i’ve become deaf to the bullshit. Lot’s of bullshit, or bollocks, i can’t use that word but i wish i could.

Not to say that I’m scared for the future but I’m far more cynical, as of tonight everything i thought was driven purely in the white snow has crashed while riding through the smog. Worst of all it crashed in a nasty pond full of regret, anger and fear. I’m fearful for a lot of things, i’ll make sure you guys get to know your humble narrator far better as the moments pass. Forget the poetry, i’m going to cut straight to the chase. There is nothing better for writing then dread, pain and then those moments when you are shocked by a certain event. Right now i’m shocked by a certain event so I decided to write

I’m a masochist, not literally. I haven’t gotten to the point where Bruce Willis needs to rescue me from Zed or Kakihara, but i enjoy pain in an emotional capacity. It makes life far more interesting, rather then moseying around a liberal arts facility for four years, fornicating and drinking cheap beer, i’d rather adventure into the depths of the mind for a couple of years. I’ve given myself two years to explore the pain and to see how far it can take me.

After all this is Warmonger, the Plight and the Fury, not the fairytales of peace, love and virtue. Please prepare yourself for a bumpy ride, because i’m not by any means afraid to drive through the smog. Let’s Hit It