From the outside looking in

swept in a pile lies every piece of me

once with so much direction, now a lifeless heartbeat

thinking of the moments I've wasted, how I could fuck up this bad

seems time has run its course, all the haves were had

Spend rest of eternity, floating dead in space

wonder if i had nine lives all along, and put each one to waste

Thinking nothing but travel, if i could turn back the days

leave no stone unturned and be on my way

they Left me here alone, on the outside looking in

heads hung with sorrow,  no way to understand

begging for the past, what should have been

erase the future they pictured, and start over again

and just as I cant bare to watch them reminisce

he puts his hand on her shoulder and says "We'll "get through this'

there's not one thing you could have done, that's a promise

only the good die young,  now a life long chorus

capitalist confession

saw the same picture, but never felt the same

couldn't last forever, but tends to feel that way

there's no will or way, there's no "instead"

said a vision cant validate whats all in your head

no need to worry, the best has yet to come

a passive state of being, no settle to be won

Leave me the extra baggage,  limitation ruled by fear

welcome to America, it's best to check out here

a sinners mind is a sanctum: hurt but never helped

a capitalist confession to mask it well

to call in question the truths of man and word"

inspire the change, over dying to be heard

Silence is golden, we've named the condition:

 one mouth to speak and two ears to listen

 two praying hands to bring compromise

twice the hurt to hear, my mouth will abide

Puppeteers for hire- Mike brunelle and Megan Hann

http://www.mediafire.com/?had4nitbzjziqle

click the link to hear Mike Brunelle bring my words to life! 

Puppeteers for hire- Mike brunelle and Megan Hann

Let me be greedy, let me take it in the palm

call it sounding needy, call it fueling future wrongs

Take it like a patron saint, the wrath of Holy ghost

If you can take the little things, i can take the most

Puppeteers for hire, plotting each and every string

Call it hard to come by, make it hard to believe

I've got a turning table conscience, call it (passing) judgment day

If you can point me in the right direction, baby, I can lead the way

stagnant as ice water ,now please don't abuse this

call it limbo lingering, Ive got no new act to amuse this

got this whole new way of living, out of sight  and out of mind

if you can save me from the burning sun, I can pull us through the night

let me be the rise and fall of your breath, let me take you by the hand

call it picture perfect, call it clutching grains of sand

Cut a hole in your ozone, and let the light shine through

if you can be real with me, i'll be real-er with you

It's all in your control

thresh holds are the basis of decision making. when the positives out weigh the negatives, or vice versa, a conclusion can be made and an action can be drawn. However time isn't the only aspect of these decisions. It's all in your control. To live in the now not yesteryear, or future tears, makes one in complete sync wih themselves. The moment when the basis of your life isn't one another's, or some others, but your own. Then there is no need for charts, for graphs or for measurements, it becomes feeling without justification, answers without long division.

I said what the hell is going on around here

With over 6  billion people as the worlds entirety, with 6 billion views, six billion decisions and conformities, and 6 billion directions what keeps us all in sync? What keeps us from dominating and dictating chaos? For a group of singularities there is one level of the conscious creating the understanding we fight against. The collective conscious holds moral attitudes controlling our general direction. The representation of our factory settings that we quickly customize to suit the environment that determines us. What about individuality? such applications weren't distributed to conform to whats most suiting. What about progression? This cant possibly be the end of what was once called infinitive. How many thoughts are cycled and put to waste as they don't suit the standard So we ship them off, an orphan to their own and claim them as dreams. When reality is derived  from real, and real, recognition average members of a society, not our own, forming a determinate system of regulations to keep those stray thoughts in line.

is it

Love is cold,
play your cards or choose to fold.
 lose it all or watch it grow,
 meet the biggest dissapointment you've ever known