| FALSE MESSIAH |
| You drive around and look for "work" Pause in the street and pay the jerk You know that you've been shorted but it's understood he gets his cut A warm glass tube, discarded flower A momentary rush of power The crackle sound, the smell of chore ...this is what you live for When it's gone and you need it again just push it . . . to the other end That putrid smell is your new best friend But the rush doesn't last, it's gone too soon You've covered the windows in all the rooms Yet your super-hero hearing has stayed You can hear voices from a block away Your power is replaced by paranoia This is the joke of the False Messiah Don't wanna stop, you're comin' down fast Head to the pawn shop and get more cash Oh, it's after hours? That won't stop them Just go and hit the ATM or run another scam again It doesn't matter who gets hurt You treat everyone you know like dirt You're so driven and resourceful, yet you don't have an ounce of self-respect So much potential if you'd do your best Instead, you're a waste of human flesh You have no moral conscience to guide you You're free of remorse - no soul inside you 'Cause you've given over everything you are to the God of Crack, the False Messiah |
| (c) 2004 Sheila W |
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