Damn it feels good to be motivated. The time is now, the time is so now, and yet I'm still not ready. I have a habit of jumping the gun, but it helps when your dodging bullets. My heart is free, free, I can't remember the hurt, because I can't remember it's infliction. There is truth and then there is honesty. Which ever you'd prefer, it doesn't matter, for like all grass, it will get shit on sooner or later. The field is empty, play ball he said, No I replied in red, let's revive this corpse called home, raze the bar, and while the fires are burning bright, we'll have our pick of pockets to pull, straight from the back, left of center, please knock twice, before you enter, beware the ink, lying on the table, into a tape recorder, something about contempt of court, and a restraining order. I peeled back the crusted scab, only to find no wound at all, and scratched my head, resting on a wall. There were no bodies, none to lay to ground, yet every where I looked, spilt blood could be found. So I wiped my shoes and dove on in, as the chorus slipped, and we had to start auditions again. Summer salts mixed with rainbow sugars and lemon honey, all in a ploy for money, you should have seen them try, man was it funny, campaign slogans featuring Santa and the Easter bunny. They visited L.A., where they became plastic, went spastic, it started becoming fantastic, and so they ended it. Tragic.