Simply a cover, just open your eyes.
What you read, it is merely a disguise.
There is truth down here; I’ve just covered it with lies.
The more complicated the meaning, the more hidden are the cries.
Constantly jotting down my own terms, my own philosophy.
Never point a finger, but a pen, at your hypocrisy.
We look on to “pleasant hill”, and walk away from our atrocity.
But it’s history you say, and to me you look.
I say not a word, just scratch quicker in my book.
Too afraid to open up, but you are ready to cook.
My pen would quit running if it could see what I write.
And every pencil would hide at the break of sunlight.
But I’m holding on to this one just a might bit tight.
It will never see the facts that I speak.
Yet never have I spoken, you see the pen would just leak.
Out these words would spill questions without answers I seek.
As you lie to me, and tell me “just give it a week.”
You don’t notice we’re losing life in our societies.
Need to quit running around like the highest thieves.
Forget a week, just ten minutes of quiet please.

-jkidd 08-09-01