God in a Box

Reborn from self-pretentious waste,
Reconstructive rhythms from past with paste.
Post-apocalyptic knowledge thrown down the can,
Nothing but style and microphone in hand.
things outside of the skin belong to me,
Easy-written metaphor, no philosophy.
Can’t make you think, reposition our stage…
Misguided thought, well intended rage.

Doesn’t seem to matter what’s in the box,
Whether it’s God or us or tix or tox.
Pretty little package and catchy little name,
Give us your money and we’ll say the same.
things outside of the skin belong to me,
Easy-written metaphor, no philosophy.
101 (one, zero, one) seemed to hard to get,
Now we spoon feed you nothing but…

Misguided hots for t.o.t.s. not…
Always eating kids, it hits the spot.
Always the clay, shape us if you must.
Whatever you make, you’ll still not trust…
Little tiny jesters dance around you…
Lots of bright lights and balloon animals too.
Lots of T.V. just like in your home…
Pay your cash and watch the little monsters roam.
things outside of the skin belong to me,
Easy written metaphor, no philosophy.
101 (one, zero, one) seemed too hard to get,
Now we spoon feed you nothing but…
things outside the skin

–Chvad SB

Copyright 1999 Chvad SB. All Rights Reserved.