stay up high, don’t come down
Speak up, speak up.
The voices high towered, in their comfortable pool of self confirmation.
Stick to the tacky glue of which to blame is about.
Dwell in but yourselves.
The higher breed, where have we heard that, does it fucking ring a bell?
Stay up, stay up high in your towers.
Don’t come down there on the surface, there live the scum and the outcasts,
the people that don’t know how to get the stories propelled.
Don’t land between those that are real, that need to be fed, that need their asses wiped.
Stay up high, cause there’s your world which is but a blatant old lie.
No remorse, no humility, is larger in my humble eyes,
Than that of the next door neighbor, the unknown craftsman, the forgotten friend,
the lady with her broken spine up her neck, anybody who isn’t part of your elite rotten construct,
who might not write, nor paint, nor express themselves in any other way,
than to come down and comfort in ones grief, give a hug, provide shelter, hand a nice word.
But do stay up, you all up there, that are too afraid to come down.
For the World that is left down here is the one forgotten, the one no-one is writing about.
Get that in your thick skulls if you next time take the subway and pass some bum,
who greets you, but you, you won’t even look at the person in front of you.
You’re of a higher breed, even though you write on the misery,
where you, yourselves predominantly are confronted with.
A litany of selfishness, self hate, and with no horizon but the self projected one.
The one in which there’s nothing but the high mass of the self,
and not the slightest bit of self critique.
I tell you, if that’s your world, it’s not mine.
For I prefer the small over the grand,
as in gestures, as in words.
And if you don’t like it, go fuck yourselves.
Go somewhere where your self pity will be heard,
into infinity and forever as far as I’m concerned.