08 August 2010

Cliches and Dead Metaphors

Sharp waves where only the silhouettes dare,
In the golden wheat fields where the devil may care,
From where onlookers sit and peddle their ware,
To the old as dirt passers who swim in the fare,

Put the dozen in half open windows for pots,
Cross the eyes and the tease for the dos and do nots,
Leave the rest for the baker take one from the lots,
and wait for the cats where the rocking-chair rots,

A bird in the hand worth two in the trap,
Are worse than the bag that can't hold all the crap,
Here's the thumb in the pie from the dusty old chap,
Shaking sticks at the floor of everything's hap,

It rolls off the tongue and gets under the skin,
The jack of all trades if you're living in sin,
To be killing the well of the battle within,
While out on the trail and with your evil twin,

Send the early to bed and bird at the rise,
Jump over the candle give the worm a surprise,
Get the door at your mercy the binds for the ties,
Stare the sun if you're worthy with too many eyes,

Hit the ground like the wind and light on your feet,
Then the door to your dreams by the edge of your seat,
Such a barrel of laughs when you bail on the street,
The beginning of ending easy as incomplete,

The seeds of doubt flair with something I said,
Should you lend me a hand or my better off dead,
The sorrow so blue while the roses are red,
While I'm trapped in a zoo and it's all in my head.