Atheist In A Foxhole

We were born to be afraid of every friendly face we meet
To think that every shaken hand is followed by two kicking feet
That every smile, every nod, a vicious glare will soon delete

There's a war out on our streets

And like an atheist in a foxhole, I haven't got a prayer
So if you ever get to heaven, don't expect to see me there

The recipe, we've known for years, the ingredients on our shelves
In heaping lies we must indulge, into the truth we must not delve
Then battle on, midnight to noon; no sleep, no lunch when clock strikes twelve

There's a war within ourselves

And like an atheist in a foxhole, I haven't got a prayer
So if there's such a place as heaven, won't you please tell me where?

Load your gun, then point and shoot; spare no child, woman, or man
Or load your tongue with words to kill, claim what victories you can
Count your conquests, ask yourself how you used up your lifespan

There's a war within our clan

And like an atheist in a foxhole, I haven't got a prayer
So if there really is a heaven, as of now, I don't care!

We are running to no place; our eyes open, still we're blind
We are searching for nothing -- that's exactly what we'll find!
Push the "other" hard enough, the "other" will respond in kind!

There's a war for our hearts and minds

And like atheists in foxholes, WE haven't got a prayer
But I'm not afraid of hell because I know I'm already there.

The Fix

Is it safe to talk to you? To reach out for you? To be near you at all?

Or have you been at it again?

You know what I mean.
You pretend not to -- but we both know you do.

You're right; you don't get drunk.

You're right again; you don't do drugs.

But how many times this week have you been...to the coffee shop?

No, don't tell me you don't have a problem!
Because you're one person before your cappuccino fix...and a whole other person afterwards.

The brilliant mind I've always loved is reduced to a sludge of idiocy.
The kind, considerate person I admire becomes a monster.
And you go from the greatest use of my time...to the biggest waste of time.

How many coffees have you had today?
How much caffeine before you finally said, "Enough"?
Too much, I'm sure.

For like the alcoholic who drinks himself stupid and insists he's fine
Or the druggie who gets so high she can't come down without crashing
You are an addict.

Yet you refuse to admit you have a problem.

So go ahead...say you shouldn't have another mocha latte...then have another anyway.

Deep down -- not too deep -- inside, you know it's wrong. But it feels so right in the moment.

Except to everyone you drive away when the creature from the caffeine lagoon wreaks its havoc
While you sit back in blissful, coffee-soaked ignorance.

Just remember to tip your barista.

Chelsea

Chelsea

More beautiful to me than any other woman

But representing the ugliest of emotions:

 

- sadness

- anger

- frustration

- hate

 

No, I don't hate you, Chelsea; I hate that I love you.

For you will never love me...at least not the same way.

 

I may wish to take you out to dinner and a show, arriving at your door with a bouquet of roses and leaving you with the most passionate goodnight kiss...

But you're content to shoot the breeze with me over a cup of coffee and give me a hug goodbye.

 

I may wish to call you anytime I need some comfort and talk for hours on end...

But you're content to call me once a month, if that often, and talk for ten minutes, if that long.

 

I may think you look lovely in that outfit -- and wish I knew what you look like without it, what your body feels like without all those layers of clothing...

But you'll never let me find out.

 

Chelsea, you may think the solution is easy: find another woman.

 

But it's not that easy.

 

Other women are around me, and still others I've yet to meet

But I want you, Chelsea.

 

The one it will never happen with.

The one it will never work out with.

The one who's not the one, or even one of many.

 

So why do you have to be you?

Why can't you be who I want you to be?

Why can't you be...anyone but Chelsea?

 

Oh, no.

 

I've been wrong all along -- I don't love you, Chelsea.

I love who you could be...if only you weren't you.

Chelsea, you're right. The solution is easy:

 

Find

Another

Woman.

Mr. Well-Off

I see you, Mr. Well-Off

Sitting in the coolest apartment in the hippest part of town.

 

But do you see us?

Living in our parents' basements, our uncles' guest rooms, our aunts' attics...or sharing a cramped, dreary space with six of our closest friends?

 

I see you, Mr. Well-Off

Wearing the flashiest clothes from the trendiest stores.

 

But do you see us?

In our threadbare sweaters, jeans with holes from overuse and not for fashion's sake?

Jackets we bought when our favorite department store had a sale?

 

Do you see us?

 

Because I see you, Mr. Well-Off

Sipping on your 18-year single malt Scotch...neat, of course

While we throw back another shot of Jack and another beer.

Do you see us, Mr. Well-Off?

 

I see you -- in your prestigious job at that big-name company.

And I know you see us...working at the bars and coffee shops and restaurants you patronize when you're not at work.

 

But Mr. Well-Off...I see you

Using three credit cards to pay each other off -- taking out a five-year loan to pay them all.

 

I see you...strapped for cash and playing it cool because there's nothing left in the bank 'til payday.

 

I see you...taking your girl to the dive where I work and saying it's cool because it's ironic.

 

No worries, Mr. Well-Off: I won't blow your cover.

For you and I are both living the new American Dream. Make that, American Nightmare:

 

Live in debt until you die -- then it's someone else's problem.

 

If it's good enough for our government, it's good enough for us!

 

And as the song says, "we'll never be royals..."

 

We'll never be Trumps, either.

 

So, Mr. Well-Off, let's both make do the best we can. Just do me a favor...

 

Save me a glass of that Scotch.

Damaged

You are damaged.
Your mother always criticized you.

Your father always sheltered you.

Your sister was more popular.

Your brother always picked on you.

 

Well, aren't you special?

No, you're damaged.

 

You love that boy, but he doesn't even like you.

And the first boy you ever loved hurt you.

And you hurt the first boy who ever loved you.

But you didn't mean to.

 

Well, aren't you special?

No. You're damaged.

 

You're sick. In your mind. In your body. Not normal. Not typical. Not right.

 

Not special; damaged.

 

And I love you. Not because you're special -- because you're not special.

I love you because you're damaged.

 

I love that I could be the one to fix you...or at least understand you.

 

I love that you could be the one to fix me...or at least understand me.

 

I love that you and I could be a match most perfect on paper...if most flawed in practice.

 

Well, aren't I special?

No. I'm damaged.

My Life As A Cardboard Box

Build it up, burn it down
Tear it up piece by piece

For burned and torn is how I've always felt

 

Leave me out in the rain and I just might drown -- leave it out in the rain and it'll melt

 

Cut it up to match my cuts, my scrapes, my bruises, and my scars

Break it down with bricks and rocks

 

Or simply throw it in the trash, in any case you have my life as a cardboard box

 

I started off a goner, cheating death inside the womb

And only half-alive at birth

But I hide my bitter soul and the anger in my heart behind a shield of merriness and mirth

 

I play just like a winner though I know I'll always lose

But at least I'm not just sitting on the bench

 

In the war with what's within me and the war with what surrounds me

You'll never find me outside of the trench

 

So build it up, burn it down

Tear it up piece by piece

For burned and torn is how I've always felt

 

Leave me out in the rain and I just might drown -- leave it out in the rain and it'll melt

 

Cut it up to match my cuts, my scrapes, my bruises, and my scars

Break it down with bricks and rocks

 

Or simply throw it in the trash, in any case you have my life as a cardboard box

 

I live like I'm dying, and for this life I'd gladly die

But there's too much I don't want to do without

 

But the lonely, desperate figure lurking quietly in the shadows has no sex appeal, no glamor, and no clout

 

Still I laugh as if it's funny, being denied and deprived

To be empty like a hollow paper square

 

But my corrugated sides are tough enough to stand the pressure

'Til the weight and volume prove too much to bear

So build it up, burn it down

Tear it up piece by piece

For burned and torn is how I've always felt

 

Leave me out in the rain and I just might drown -- leave it out in the rain and it'll melt

 

Cut it up to match my cuts, my scrapes, my bruises, and my scars

Break it down with bricks and rocks

 

Or simply throw it in the trash, in any case you have my life as a cardboard box

A Man Is Not A Man

A man is not a man unless he's conquered all the world

Unless he's a man of great experience in every place, with every girl

 

A man is not a man unless he's solid as a rock

When the going gets tough, he's the toughest on the block

 

A man is not a man if he shows that he is worried

If he shows that he is troubled, he must hide it in a hurry

 

A man is not a man unless he's steadfastly aggressive
Unless he owns every room, and he's unfailingly possessive

 

A man is not a man unless his riches can't be counted

Unless his money flows like water and his wealth cannot be doubted

 

A man is not a man unless he always stands alone
If he loses independence, he might as well not be grown

A man is not a man unless he's ahead of all other men

Unless he towers above the competition who used to be his friends

 

A man is not a man if his body is not the strongest
Though he may get a free pass if his penis is the longest

 

A man is not a man unless he drinks the hardest liquor

And when he sees a lovely woman, all he wants to do is dick her

 

A man is not a man unless a woman is an object
And every woman that he loves has got to be no less than perfect

 

Well, my friend, if that's a man
Then I have disappointing news

 

You see, I am not a man --

For that matter, nor are you.

Change of Life

32 is just a number, unless it's your age

And you're starting anew.

"Can't things be different," you ask?

But that's the problem.
Things need to be different.

For you ask yourself, time and time again: "Can't I go back to the way things were?

The same old job, the same old places, the same old life?"

But no...

The way things were was not, is not the way things ought to be, the way things need to be.

So you wait...

For something new, or someone new

To inspire you.

To motivate you.

To make you feel destined rather than doomed.

To get you to rejoice rather than resign.

Meanwhile, you stress -- until you can stress no more.

You care -- until you stop caring.

You ponder -- only to find you already had it figured out.

Yes, you know...but when will the universe catch up?

This life is too precious to give up...yet too fragile to live.

That bottle of wine might as well be water.

The whiskey only a liquid sleeping pill.

For you know you can't drink yourself away from the challenge before you.

You leave town, but your town doesn't leave you.

You leave yourself behind...but wherever you go, you follow.

So you forge ahead

With a greater sense of direction than ever...

...and more directionless than ever.

Pass me that pen and paper.

It's gonna be a long night.