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Saturday, 16 May 2009

  • Currently
    Mad World
    By Michael Andrews, Gary Jules
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    CONFESSIONS OF A DANGEROUS MIND

    The hunger, it calls out from the dark,
    Thirst for blood, to extinguish a spark,
    The victim chosen, marked for the slay,
    Lamb to slaughter, like hapless prey,
    After days of stalking, frustration is whet,
    At last the day is fixed, and the venue is set,
    The tools are readied, clothing is all black,
    Like the Grim Reaper, but the scythe is lack,
    The moment arrives; the quarry is in sight,
    Jumped from behind, not much of a fight,
    The cold steel blade meets warm skin,
    Excitement now, where frustration had been,
    A deep thrust, another to be sure,
    Crimson stains, it will shine no more,
    Screams of agony, Music of sorts,
    Body goes limp, the face contorts,
    Drenched in blood, high on the kill,
    Symphony of death, Time stands still.



Thursday, 09 April 2009

  • Currently
    The Joker
    By Steve Miller Band
    see related

    THE SEARCH

    Some seek it in the arms of God,
    And so daily do they kneel and pray.
    Some seek it in meditation and solitude,
    And so in the mountains do they stay.

    Some seek it in neighbours and friends,
    And so kindly do they help them out,
    Some seek it in the fruits of labour,
    And so toil endlessly without doubt.

    Some seek it in childhood innocence,
    And so as a child they wish to remain.
    Some seek it in the bottle of spirit,
    And so do they drink and kill the pain.

    A billion seekers out on a quest,
    To seek what no mortal has ever found,
    Different ways, different means,
    But alas, the possibilities have no bound.

    Countless failures and loss of hope,
    Dark secrets, No solution seems near,
    Yet they keep on seeking the answer,
    Eternal question, why are we here?


Saturday, 31 January 2009

  • Currently
    Kala
    By M.I.A.
    Paper Planes
    see related

    SIMPLE THINGS

    Small little everyday things,
    Like answering when the telephone rings,
    A cold shower in the early morn,
    A punishing run at the crack of dawn.
    An evening by the tide so low,
    Coffee with some conversation to go,
    Tiny treats and pleasures petite,
    A hint of sugar to make it sweet,
    Simple things that we cannot see,
    Yet without them we cannot be,
    Loyal they are, though abused,
    Their true value, never perused,
    Only the day we can do them no more,
    Their worth we will know for sure!

Sunday, 18 January 2009

Tuesday, 23 December 2008

  • Currently
    Potter's Field
    By 12 Stones
    Shadows
    see related

    THE DARK PASSENGER

    It calls out to me, The darkness within,
    When all hath spurned me, It welcomes me in.
    Steadily it grows, Feeding on my fears,
    Fertilized with rage, Watered by my tears.
    Whispered instructions, An escape, it seems,
    Attacks of panic, Suicidal dreams.
    Hunger for pain, So alive I can feel,
    No shaking it loose, A grip of steel.
    Quaking of limbs, Cold sweat on my brow,
    Once a part of me, It is my master now.

psychoBABEL

  • Visit psychoBABEL's Xanga Site
    • Name: Vainateya
    • Country: India
    • Metro: Mumbai
    • Birthday: 3/17/1987
    • Gender: Male
    • Member Since: 4/30/2006

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