It's not good form to wake the dead just leave the dead alone Wake those who are alive instead show them what you've been shown
To be a proper puppeteer You must learn to work the strings Staying here and steering clear of all the useless things
Out west the writing on the wall was the true meaning of life some invested know it all had you hooked on strife
but you came back to yourself one day with the help of some good friends No worthless words could find their way you just had to make amends
Drinking up the dragons blood and prostituting time Often being misunderstood unless you spoke in rhyme
**Weaving words in tapestries on a loom so primitive Learning love and some disease that hits you where you live bleeding feet in poison sand where the LA sewers flow Infecting you right where you stand, but that's the plan you know.**
Under all the bridges in your past your one eyed heart with wings is tagged on walls and will out last so many other things,
Some memories, they have a way they either change or fade or they come back on some splendid day and rain on your parade.
Under the holy microscope you're not afraid to feel, and that's the only way you cope when things just get too real
Years pass by, time breaks your heart, and your habits break your bank another hip shot in the dark, and there's only yourself to thank
now there's a lot less time ahead, than the time you've left behind. and you tell yourself that being dead is just a state of mind.
The universe becomes your brain the synaptic relay star You suddenly know everything except for where you are.
It's not good form to wake the dead whether on, or in, their grave No point in shame for the life you've led, or the little that you gave
Just close your eyes and bravely go to the place where nothing grows cause you don't know what you don't know when your time comes to a close..... **
