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God is trivia, bent walking stick teaspoon full of Lithium.
Stephen stole the colors off Picasso's Three Musicians
Sampled the Cubism now its VHS Visions.
Performed free admission.

I need to start writing there's a blockage in my brain.
A struggle between the mouth, tongue, and my pen.
I should write about politics, and congressmen, republicans,
One hundred men who vote for the death of the lowly ones.
I'll hold a gun, hold up son!
I'll write about an open window. Vagabond fern that will go where the wind blows.
And if those ideas evolve and grow legs
I should hold them until they're old enough to pay rent.
Wait! I should write about a woman that I knew
Who would only kill a cockroach if God told her to.
She prayed for bombs to hit the roof
The itch she'd finally soothe
With a skull-and-crossbone bazooka that found the truth.
I felt stupid once I knew the topics on my plate
Had a place on the paper that was greater than her shame.
Placing all the blame on a shapeless form again.
Thought of fate as an insult I was a Nihilist born-again.

Brave the storm and winds hurricane force in full effect.
I'll place a bet when the eye hits I'll be the only writer left.
I'll tie myself to the bars of your sturdy prison cell.
When the wind comes we'll yell a battle cry, "Give it hell!"

So this is where I live it's my block; Writers block.
A life-long sacrifice to the scavengers of finer arts.
Where lovely harps are played by fingertips that bleed.
The mouth forgot to talk, the palms that long to plead.
A noble steed it came; no teeth, a beast to tame.
Unleashed a plague of locusts that died with morning rain.
Same story again, same writer, same pen
Making pictures in the college-ruled paper I'm writing in.
I should write about the day that my friends began to melt.
Relieved to see a relief a better version of themselves.
We held our hands to the light and described what we saw;
Ten skilled digits that could build defensive walls,
Eventually they'll fall and we'll stand in the aftermath.
A habit that had landed in the hands of my father's dad.

credits

from Farris & Himself EP, released January 6, 2011

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Farris & Himself Houston, Texas

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