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Brainwashed Printable Version PRINTABLE VERSION
by Hodg, Serbia Nov 4, 2004
Civil Rights   Poetry

  

I'm running for hours.
Run, forest run.
Counting flowers in the sky
As the night passes by.
I'm racking my brain.
The tank's not thinking
From too much drinking
The cells are shrinking. (I'm begging)
"Virus get out!"
Still hoping
To finally break out
But all the doors are open.
Crying for water
Dying to go overboard.
(What am I to do?)

I don't know where to go
The whole world is so wide.
I don't know who to love
It's so hard to decide.
The only thing I know is
You can't fool everyone:
You gotta be true
To Yourself.
I don't know where to go
The whole world is so wide.
I don't know who to love
It's so hard to decide.
I won't give up my freedom
No, not for a wife.
Just live your dream
Don't dream your life.

How can I hate it,
As much as I await it?
How can it thrill me,
Simultaneously kill me?
Can't stand your tone
But don't hang up on me.
Don't get me wrong
It wasn't meant to be.
It could not have been better
What if too much is not enough.
In a letter
The fight would be rough.
So hold up the mirror
I'm just trying to understand.
(What did I do?)

The crow
Calls for a change.
How much pain does freedom justify?
The cost is out of range.
Heart against the mind.
Do you know how it feels?
Lost the wrecking-ball game.
Love is not about deals.
Never look back,
But learn from the past.
Stop trading Jack,
Or you won't last.
Defeat the mountain
To interview the other side.
(That is what I'll do!)

I don't know where to go
The whole world is so wide.
I don't know who to love
It's so hard to decide.
The only thing I know is
You can't fool everyone:
You gotta be true
To Yourself
I don't know where to go
The whole world is so wide.
I don't know who to love
It's so hard to decide.
I won't give up my freedom
No, not for a wife.
Just live your dream
Don't dream your life.

Bridge:
Quit acting passenger
'Cause all the seats are taken.
Without decisions
There is no mistakin'.
But once you are in charge
watch out for the air hole:
Check your ejector seat,
There's too much you can't control.





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Hodg


I'm not a writer, but once in a while everybody has to vent something.
I had to do that in the summer of 2002. That's when I came up with this song. The title less reflects the content, rather the process of creation.


Time to vent again... But still alive.
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