spoken word

song lyrics


poetry || photo || log

Voodoo Lilies

You can look at the devastated land outside of your window
But that’s nothing compared to the landscape within my mind

I could paint a picture derived from Cuccu millies
Of what’s going on inside my head, misshaped like Voodoo Lilies
You’re looking at somebody with a CV with a heap of sins
Go ahead and be judgmental, please begin, to seek within
I dare you to cast the first stone, it’s only a matter of views
The chatter of truths are luckily covered by a clatter of hoofs
Like there’s any luck in horse shoes, people are fighting witch craft
But praying for a second chance, but most likely it's passed
Holding the rope, but can’t figure out how to hold the leashes
Plagued by old slipped secrets, their dishonesty controls the seepage
...so they’re fighting the with craft they folks can’t bewitch
Inside my head, I’ve watched the bewitched hope man preaches
But I can say I’m doing pretty okay compared to the rest
I mean, for a guy who just looked down the stairs of what’s left
Could’ve paired with the dead, but there’s a higher purpose
I believe there’s always some truth beneath the surface
People never dare to walk the walk, if nobody goes before them
Afraid to talk the talk, chaotic like theories of Lorenz
All the political agendas seem to appear random
But can be described mathematically, no answer’s left abandoned
Even in darkness there’s a light answer to make phantom
Words of wisdom get printed and our libraries are full of prophecies
Borrow keys to inner conflict solutions, but this speech
Is not going to end up with peace, before the cannibal turns out
To be the prey, because we’re living in an animal’s world now
You get by... If you get sympathy when your lacrimals burst out
You get by... Because you got the truth when your lies backstabbed it
You get by... If you get what you earn, a truth that's plastic
And's rarely the case since, Karma’s prone to malpractice
Recent events have drastically pinpointed problems like a black cactus
We’re cats chasing ghosts, showing white canines up the black attic
But in the end, isn’t it that tragic how we all end up with bad habits
Life; should be a blessing, but you really have had it that magic?

How can such a beautiful life become so cruel?
The answer is within the landscapes of our minds

© Martin Ångnell 2010 - 2021