Skyfall

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It’s not a crime to be pretty
Wearing rented dresses, searching for a breadwinner
Socialites & other plastic people
No redeeming qualities, but she wants to be thinner
Her vagina will accept almost anything
Whether it be dollars, pounds, marks or kroner
A consummate professional at all times
She expects to be well paid for every geriatric boner
You don’t look gift whores in the mouth
Searching for a sugar daddy, anyone will do
Sitting in the bullpen, hoping to get promoted
Waiting to pluck her next victim, how many already gone through
That swath leaving nothing to the imagination
Offended when the whispers mention a gold digger
Everyone can spy those silicone scars
Next time she’ll go a couple of cups bigger
Sucking more than the marrow out of life
She’s trading her youth for money & security
But once tarnished, Innocence forever besmirched
Time is constantly magnifying all your impurities
There are certain priorities in this life
A father must keep his daughters off the pole
But something much less discussed nowadays
What do you do once she grew without a soul
This scene is littered with heinous & fickle creatures
Cloaked, it slowly begins to scandalize & appall
Men with large billfolds & absolutely no shame
The current failure of society & they call it Skyfall

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Absentee Postmasters

Absentee postmasters in a foreign longing state
Discussing politics of lost & forgotten mates
Central themes no one remembered to notice
Eyeing secrets along the day to your favorite hostess
Stuck in a rut & broken down on a fragile road
Distances lost with the woman lying in your head
Remedies too severe to be used on this night
Gently track where you’re afraid to tread

 

Outlawed Poets Writing Of Things We Cannot Discuss

Outlawed poets writing of things we cannot discuss

Hiding out from society for all these years

Push them further away from anything real

They’re no longer human, those aren’t real tears

Becoming everything you never wanted to be

When did you become the instrument of all this pain

Working the outskirts of the foreign cities

You’re gonna be lost when it finally starts to rain

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