I'm not finished
with the tentacles
of greed
with the prison cells
of faith
with all which seems
so obvious that
hurts the skin of truth

I'm not done
with the rusty nails
of creedence
with that walk-in closet
of lawlessness
with everything that shines
too bright above the
Japanese skyline

I'm too oldfashioned
for salvation
and that's because
I use my brain

I'm too self-conscious
to be muted by the sour
grapes of gain

I'm just morbusly
currupted by
the scent of
open-mindedness

to curl up & freeze
in time

I could be called a
pessimist by those who
still believe in light

I could be scorned
by those who love
the future tense

but wouldn't be
a bummer if we could
just predict
the end?