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lyrics

I've free-willed my conscience down to a science
And artfully sculpted rigid defiance.
No room for debate, I can't throw my own weight.
So who's in control and who's in compliance?

Selfishly unethical, the shelf-life mimics mythical;
The faithless healer ointment's fresh out of the can.
Allegory, parable; the moral's only terrible.
For once I got the point I stuck it to the man.
Best if used by when it hasn't yet expired.
Lest abused, instead, in which case uninspired.
Although it soothes, nonsensical, it's never better than.

I've thrown in the towel, drowning my sorrow.
I claim all the dry sarcasm I borrow.
My ears are still wet, as my neck sees the threat.
Today I will hang. I'll give up tomorrow.

Selfish, reprehensible, my shelf-life ends on principle;
The faithless sell appointments any way they can.
Allegory, axiom; the moral code is taxing them.
For once they formed a point they stuck it in the man.
At its best before the time that it’s been dated
Bound, confessed, engaged, committed, drawn, and slated.
Unheard at any decibel, it's never louder than.

I've summoned the meaning out from its hiding,
But both of us cower, idly abiding.
I buy its tall tale but, in short, it must fail
Since no noose is good, and that's not the tiding.

Guilty, I must pull my weight.
My fault has fed a famished fate.
For gallows sold my soul away
At discount price, from clearance rate, on double-coupon day!

Selfishly inspiring, the shelf’s life isn’t hiring;
The faithful nab anointments while I get the can.
Allegory, prophecy; the moral scoreboard offers me
No chance to earn a point. I stuck it out, for man.
Sure to spoil once the smallest hand stops ticking.
Never loyal, held my tongue, I’ll take the licking.
I face the pep squad firing. It’s never truer than.

©2015 Brian M. Weidemann

credits

from Buy Popular Demand, released November 27, 2015

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all rights reserved

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Brimaxian Portland, Oregon

A persistently versatile mix of guitars, keys, synth strings, and more, in the rock, acoustic, and alternative genres. Dense, poetic wordplay sung by a semi-amateur baritone. Wry wit, hot guitar licks, and the occasional augmented sixth chord.

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