Neon Hearts.

Bright lights; make for Bright nights.

Neon heart pumping.

Bioluminescent ichor leaving trails to follow.

These streets have personality; but all the buildings are hollow.

And the monkeys too.

Nothing is hallowed.

Nothing is sacred.

Alleyways in my peripherals; trying to be patient.

Drunken youth and depressed ojii-chans trying to fake it; trying to meet their two days of freedom with elation.

But the reds are shining through; their aura’s burning hue.

But ours are blue.

The chosen few.

And even though we can choose; our lives won’t begin anew.

And that’s just fine.

[It doesn’t matter how many lines you blew in time with the musical cues.

The nosebleed won’t last forever; but it sure is something.

Bright lights; make for Bright nights.

Neon heart pumping.

Bioluminescent ichor leaving trails to follow.

These streets have personality; but all the buildings are hollow.

And the monkeys too.

Nothing is hallowed.

Nothing is sacred.

Alleyways in my peripherals; trying to be patient.

Party at 6 to 9 in the parking lot, loud music and donuts; the fun kind.

But these events have no drugs and I’ve already lost my mind.

Standing on the hood of a beater decorated with waifus, but one is Luka-San; and that’s a man.

I’ll never understand these less than white dudes.

Even though I am one, should be able to see right through.

I’m gonna take my ass and find you; sitting in some corner at the back of the metro.

Cause you’re fun to talk to and you always know something I don’t know.

Better to spend my hours with a shadow that needs something.

Bright lights; make for Bright nights.

Neon hearts pumping.

Bioluminescent ichor leaving trails to follow.

These streets have personality; but all the buildings are hollow.

And the monkeys too.

Nothing is hallowed.

Nothing is sacred.

Alleyways in my peripherals; trying to be patient.

The reds are shining through; their aura’s burning hue.

But ours are blue.

The chosen few.

The chosen few.

Neon hearts pumping.

And even though we can choose; our lives won’t begin anew.

And that’s just fine.

The reds are shining through; their aura’s burning hue.

But ours are blue.

The chosen few.

Neon hearts pumping. –Michael Kabu Ament

Rose of Remembrance.

Leaving marks; like a rose of remembrance.

Demonstration of loyalty and undying passion.

She’s got everything I need in the light of blackened sun.

The way she carries herself; like a soldier carries a gun.

A banner like blood; quench my thirst as colors run.

Where shall we be, skin melts together so gently; as the two indefinitely become one.

She’s opened my eyes.

Opened my eyes.

Opened my eyes.

Opened my eyes.

I’ll carry her.

Enduring me.

The shadows and the voices scream.

Far gone are the days where we could be alone.

And I know, my pleading will never be enough; thrashing around in the undertow.

Her warmth; the only respite from the cold.

Beauty and undying passion.

She’s got everything I need in the light of blackened sun.

The way she carries herself; like a soldier carries a gun.

A banner like blood; quench my thirst as colors run.

Where shall we be, skin melts together so gently; as the two indefinitely become one.

She’s pulled out my eyes.

Pulled out my eyes.

Pulled out my eyes.

Pulled out my eyes.

Except for one.

Anxiety, shaking like a leaf in tornado winds.

Every time she touches me; I want to weep within.

Leaving marks; like a rose of remembrance.

Blooming until God judges our sins.

Her understanding and kindness; rapture of a thousand men.

Loyalty and undying passion.

She’s got everything I need in the light of blackened sun.

The way she carries herself; like a soldier carries a gun.

A banner like blood; quench my thirst as colors run.

Where shall we be, skin melts together so gently; as the two indefinitely become one.

She’s opened my eyes.

Opened my eyes.

Opened my eyes.

Opened my eyes.

I’ll carry her.

Beauty and undying passion.

Where shall we be, skin melts together so gently; as the two indefinitely become one.

She’s pulled out my eyes.

Pulled out my eyes.

Pulled out my eyes.

Pulled out my eyes.

Except for one.

Except for one. –Michael Kabu Ament

Sleeping Dog.

I won’t let go; even if I don’t know myself.

Forgotten my place in this world; a prosaic hell.

My feelings and secrets fall upon the stage; show and tell.

Blooming flowers on thorny desert gourd; I knew them well.

Blood drawn with every known prick; wish I knew how it felt.

Lost it all that stood beside me; welcome to my endogenous cell.

And if we had it easy; life would be far too simplified.

We’re it difficult, they may remember how we died, and were we so far gone into it; would we be satisfied?

Sometimes we were wise enough to let sleeping dogs lie.

Let a sleeping dog lie.

Unafraid and untethered; a heart accustomed to the dark.

What is found there in the well of sages; a trying man’s art.

Mouthful of dirt and ashes; the taste of compulsion plays it’s part.

A name and some silver; that would be a start.

Fuck all to what society says; they don’t put bread on the tables of my hearth.

Born and bred medieval man stands between dimensions with wizard’s hands.

Chasing dragons into stool pigeon’s plans.

Tart and bitter cherries, refined; to make the kings understand.

And if we had it easy; life would be far too simplified.

We’re it difficult, they may remember how we died, and were we so far gone into it; would we be satisfied?

Sometimes we were wise enough to let sleeping dogs lie.

Let a sleeping dog lie.

I won’t let go; even if I don’t know myself.

Blood drawn with every known prick; wish I knew how it felt.

Unafraid and untethered; a heart accustomed to the dark.

What is found there in the well of sages; a trying man’s art.

Ink and metal; distract from the scars.

Artemis arrow; pierce the stars.

Gods amongst men, writing poems; it’s what we are.

Guardians of edge of space and time; know we took it far.

And if we had it easy; life would be far too simplified.

We’re it difficult, they may remember how we died, and were we so far gone into it; would we be satisfied?

Sometimes we were wise enough to let sleeping dogs lie.

Let a sleeping dog lie.

Let a sleeping dog lie.

Let a sleeping dog lie.-Michael Kabu Ament

From an objective standpoint there is no right or left; just right and wrong. Instinctively you feel it when you do something objectionable or inherently human on a moral scale. Trust your instincts.

Endymion.

Tongue cloaked in bitterness.

Wish the sun would never rise.

Eyes water beneath a trillion lights; shadowwalkers watch as I’m skinned alive.

Smoke lifts me up to greater heights, layman shrugs; confused as I contrive.

Her dais calling me; euphoria as I shrive.

Burden lifted I laugh; blood dripping from my smile.

Sent down before this unholy mother; grace unseen by wastrels green.

Enter o’ sunflower, you can stay a while; measured twice to find the mean.

I turn myself in, then turn myself out, walking the gravel road, feet bleeding; filled with doubt.

Will I get my shit together?

Will I turn my whisper into a shout?

And the spiral goes on and on and on and around; down into the ground.

I’ll be happy when this is over, I’ll get my restitution when my trumpets sound.

I’ll turn in the dirt when my Endymion sleep is found.

Tongue cloaked in bitterness.

Wish the sun would never rise.

Eyes water beneath a trillion lights; shadowwalkers watch as I’m skinned alive.

Smoke lifts me up to greater heights, layman shrugs; confused as I contrive.

Her dais calling me; euphoria as I shrive.

Burden lifted I laugh; blood dripping from my smile.

Like a blood flower in bloom; scent sweet and delicate.

Lulls me into a retreat, don’t run and hide from me now, a connoisseur of flesh; I need to eat.

Our home, concrete and steel jungle; kiss the street.

In dark alleyways and the tunnels beneath; where ancient bones rest and lovecraftian horrors lie upon the seat of sickle and wheat.

And the spiral goes on and on and on and around; down into the ground.

We are bound to the sound of music rumbling aloud; chords and swords raining down from the electron lit sky.

I’ll be happy when this is over; I’ll be happy when we die.

Together.

Turn the page and fly.

Tongue cloaked in bitterness.

Wish the sun would never rise.

Eyes water beneath a trillion lights; shadowwalkers watch as I’m skinned alive.

Smoke lifts me up to greater heights, layman shrugs; confused as I contrive.

Her dais calling me; euphoria as I shrive.

Burden lifted I laugh; blood dripping from my smile.

Drifting off to sleep again.

Eternal rest of Endymion.

Drifting off to sleep again.

Eternal rest of Endymion.

I turn myself out.

Then I turn myself in.

Drifting off to sleep again.

Eternal rest of Endymion. –Michael Kabu Ament

Soul Trap. (Any Means Necessary)

Charybdis logicum soul trap cognizance.

E.T. witch excising visionless cognitive dissonance.

Shamanic dogma, feeling this internal summation; intervene listless arithmetic creation.

Monk enrobed in fire; dying with patience.

Man of charisma chaos; uniter of nations.

By any means necessary.

Wary missionary carries the precarious chariot’s load.

Carrying a lariat to preside over multivariate variants; plagues of and o’er old.

Remembrance stands out beyond; unflinching mnemonic that the cure is worse than the canker.

Yet they’ll have you believe it can be fixed with pills and bankers.

Feeding upon creatures of the dirt; it’s the new progression.

Transgression suppression; is oppression really the question?

Egression is a confession; don’t confuse rape and murder with self-expression.

In this hour of need regression becomes a profession.

In this darkness instead of intercession we need technological introgression.

It’s time for the intellectual to inherit the earth; call it a line of succession.

By any means necessary.

Charybdis logicum soul trap cognizance.

E.T. witch excising visionless cognitive dissonance.

Shamanic dogma, feeling this internal summation; intervene listless arithmetic creation.

Monk enrobed in fire; dying with patience.

Man of charisma chaos; uniter of nations.

By any means necessary.

Deep contemplation seems to be a rare occurrence in this multiverse.

Like zombies eating brains to get smarter; it never works.

Try to drown it out with the serpent’s stimulus; but it always hurts.

War drums beating in time; it’s a fucking curse.

Open your holy book and sing another verse.

Pleading on your knees only makes it worse.

It only makes it worse.

For your annihilation comes to pass in the waking hours of imbolc; as the sun brings exposure to your evil within.

The truth will pierce like a feathered bolt; bringing pain like heartbreaks begin.

One last chance to get it right before the ignorance sets in.

I’ll offer you a mark of pride in the space below your chin.

I call it..

Charybdis logicum soul trap cognizance.

E.T. witch excising visionless cognitive dissonance.

Shamanic dogma, feeling this internal summation; intervene listless arithmetic creation.

Monk enrobed in fire; dying with patience.

Man of charisma chaos; uniter of nations.

By any means necessary.

By any means necessary.

Wary missionary carries the precarious chariot’s load.

By any means necessary; the truth shall be told. –Michael Kabu Ament

Breath of the Forest.

Breath of the forest.

Blood pumping.

Breadth of my heartbeat; taking time for my eyes to adjust.

So humbling; breathe in the dust.

At it’s core is my echo and shadow; waving me to come within it’s center.

Fire rages, ashen taste like snowfall flakes; never wasted, create and destroy as I wait.

Awakening my muscles anew, pain that I can tolerate, to see and feel this gainful renewal; I am getting closer step by step.

Treading in this skin; I will dominate this time.

Just fucking bet.

Wet my lips and clench my teeth.

Grab the reins; my hands and feet will bleed.

Beading sweet upon the seat of my brow; my crown of need.

Dripping into the thirsty soil, of my life; let it drink.

Embryonic liquid.

Thick and afflicted.

Quickened and consistent.

A pool of entropy, here; something missing.

Sirens wail in the distance; a lure in the darkness.

Reminiscence transmittance.

Omniscience persistent; mirror of narcissus.

Oscillating in the earthen torrent; breaking in my grave obscurant.

Breath of the forest.

Blood pumping.

Breadth of my heartbeat; taking time for my eyes to adjust.

So humbling; breathe in the dust.

At it’s core is my echo and shadow; waving me to come within it’s center.

Fire rages, ashen taste like snowfall flakes; never wasted, create and destroy as I wait.

Awakening my muscles anew, pain that I can tolerate, to see and feel this gainful renewal; I am getting closer step by step.

Treading in this skin; I will dominate this time.

Just fucking bet.

Beauty swallows this lachrymose hollow; like a demiurge greedy for starlight sustenance.

Pituitary release seeding lover’s quarrels in the mourning winds.

What is near, is also far; speaking through a veil so thin.

Climbing mountains sharp with ancient obsidian.

At the peaks lie the hopes and dreams of men.

The genuine bide their time.

Alternating meditation, hands caressing dirt, and water, and stone; sensual and reciprocal.

Sleeping, hibernating and growing, branches and leaves with mother Gaia; knowing the endgame.

Death’s embrace consuming quickly.

By the sisters thou art blessed.

Forever will this sanctuary be the purest.

Breath of the forest.

Blood pumping.

At it’s core is my echo and shadow; waving me to come within it’s center.

Awakening my muscles anew, pain that I can tolerate, to see and feel this gainful renewal; I am getting closer step by step.

Treading in this skin; I will dominate this time.

Just fucking bet.

Beading sweet upon the seat of my brow; my crown of need.

Dripping into the thirsty soil, of my life; let it drink. –Michael Kabu Ament

Love.

Jera.

Wunjo.

Gebo.

Othala.

Algiz.

Bear this upon your chest.

Brain Dead.

Prosecute to persecute.

Tailor-made three-piece suit.

Tin crest and a gun to shoot.

Bang bang goes la pistola.

Chain gang they control ya.

It’s a team game and they chose ya.

Public interest gangbanger; trabajo de la rosa.

All black and red, strap in; the mind is dead.

Hidden beneath a hoodie and a donkey’s head.

War is kicking and love is dead.

All that talk; what does your voice mean anyways?

When black and white annals is all you got to say.

Another moron had a heart attack?

Hip hip hooray!

Your fight has just begun; get on your knees and pray.

Cause there’s no chance in hell you’re gonna live through this.

Wanna change the world?

Tough grits, sugar tits.

There’s a plan in play; to unite the globe under the guise of Liberté.

With one people in place to take the reigns; each one gifted 800 slaves.

All those who resist will be dug a shallow grave.

Imagine a homogeneous existential crisis and prepare to be erased dude.

“But I’m on the right side of history!”

Awww; aren’t you cute.

Prosecute to persecute.

Tailor-made three-piece suit.

Tin crest and a gun to shoot.

Bang bang goes la pistola.

Chain gang they control ya.

It’s a team game and they chose ya.

Public interest gangbanger; trabajo de la rosa.

Let’s pull the trigger on some sycophants.

Hold up let me stop you before you shit your pants.

You’re not the only figure full of rants.

The clock is ticking and this isn’t a game of chance.

Pant over grants like ants over their queen.

Take the bribe and imbibe or die; there is no in-between.

All about the size of your rooster or how much money your paying; your contribution to society remains to be seen.

Even when you think you’re experienced; your belly is yellow and your gills are green.

Just giving it to you real, don’t intend to be mean.

What you want is something that can be easily taken away.

The only happiness found is in a neutral shade of grey.

You want a culture of color; you have to enter the fray.

Be a ruthless, selfish, agenda driven mercenary; the way the movies portray.

At the root of Japanese bamboo shoots, the truth shall be revealed, transhuman transition; level the the playing field and repute the pursuit.

Prosecute to persecute.

Tailor-made three-piece suit.

Tin crest and a gun to shoot.

Bang bang goes la pistola.

Chain gang they control ya.

It’s a team game and they chose ya.

Public interest gangbanger; trabajo de la rosa.

War is kicking and love is dead.

All black and red, strap in; the mind is dead.

War is kicking and love is dead.

All black and red, strap in; the mind is dead.

War is kicking and love is dead.

All black and red, strap in; the mind is dead. –Michael Kabu Ament

Evil Man.

I’m surprised you still talk to me.

You know what I am; an evil man.

An evil man.

All the times I toked and choked what you put up.

The cost was too much.

All the grey lines I walked and fences I sat on.

Leaving their permanent indentation.

All the acquaintances left behind, never knew em as friends; and that’s just fine.

They never set their sights on what’s inside of me.

Not that I would ever let them see.

But still they know what I am; an evil man.

An evil man.

Tried to say au revoir; but it’s still there ticking like a clock.

The heart pumping blood through this mess of a self-perpetuated martyr.

And I’ll try to shake this sadness off; even if it means the death of me.

Just don’t let it drag you down.

If you go lookin’; I’ll be around.

I’ll show my face in places I don’t belong; invading spaces with my song.

Making them uncomfortable by remaining alive; for a long long time.

Yeah, that’s the plan, I know what I am; an evil man.

An evil man.

All the times I cornered her in the hall; no escape from my love.

Unreciprocated; but couldn’t let her run.

Though I’m only one; and there were a few.

All the times I shilled my truth.

All the hearts I broke in my youth.

Everything I stole; took it’s toll.

It was never my goal to feign recompense owed.

Would rather shoot for the future; never break the sutures.

But here I am shoulder bleeding; stuck like a ham.

We all know who I am; an evil man.

An evil man.

All the times I toked and choked what you put up.

The cost was too much.

All the grey lines I walked and fences I sat on.

Leaving their permanent indentation.

All the acquaintances left behind, never knew em as friends; and that’s just fine.

They never set their sights on what’s inside of me.

Not that I would ever let them see.

Not that I would ever let them see.

Not that side of me.

Not that I would ever let them see.

Not that I would ever let them see!

Not that side of me.

This evil man.

An evil man.

An evil man!

This evil man. –Michael Kabu Ament