Give me crack and anal sex.

Take the only tree that’s left.

And stuff it up the hole that is your culture.

Our Monster, she has green eyes. Her hair is bloodshot red.

I thought I couldn’t get more tired. But I got her instead.

There are mysteries in the heavens. But here it’s bought and sold.

Our Monster she’s been spinning tales into silver, gems and gold.

But the shelf life has expired. All her power spent and gone.

Our Monster had her visit here. Our Monster she moved on.

Dennis Mantin

She was wise, but wasn’t happy.

I think she knew too much.

All that knowledge made her sappy.

Alone and sad and such.

She was searching for the common.

Someone plain and twice as thick.

I slid down from the tree tops.

But my sight just made her sick.

So I went back to the jungle.

God knows I really tried.

Left her reading at the library.

Laughed so hard, I almost cried.

I tried to be a passenger, in this thing that they call love.

I couldn’t get too comfortable in what I knew so little of.

I know now, what I didn’t know, and for that there is a price.

I am just a little jaded now but I’m probably twice as nice.

There is a freedom in the knowledge that looks like you don’t care.

You look so cold and selfish, but you never learned to share.

I knew you, like few do, and there’s no prize for that.

Just older in the knowledge, that we’ve had this little chat.

I was awake when she said it. “I think you are off the hook.

I felt like I was floating, and so my time was all it took.

And some money and my pain, but I make that everyday.

Today they let me off the hook; at least that’s what they say.

I’m still a little frazzled, my nerves are raw and worn.

I’m not saying I won’t recover but I’m battered bruised and torn.

I’d like to thank the jokers and that Lady in my dreams.

I was dying there of laughter, almost bursting at the seams.

It’s either joy or sadness.

It’s either win or lose.

Success is guaged by failure.

Lost love begats the blues.

Batman going crazy, he’s been angered since his youth.

And Superboy came out as gay, saying goodbye old phone booth.

The Joker feels normal now, like Matthew Mathers spitting truth.

The Myth-Men seem so human.

Clarke Kent hides behind a curl.

The Aliens are all the rage.

Only Star-Lord gets the girl.

I could get no higher.

Then that summit that we climbed.

I swear there was a choir

Singing joys and words of kind.

There were trials, tribulations.

There was blue and fresh clean air.

Like some drug induced sensations.

No more need to stand and stare.

All over but the crying.

Now is the time to say so long.

I just got sick of trying.

It’s not the singer, it’s the song.

A holy place is never empty.

I have reached a point in life where I value my opinion above most others.

In any large decision I ask 3 people there opinion before I act.

If I am asking you for your opinion understand I respect you.