The Seven Palms of Homicide

On Dani Compose

I’ve seen men en mobb pretend to die
Pickaxemen bicker; fly versus fly
Well the dirty rise up, the pious subside
They see the moon; the devil’s eye in the sky

I’ve lived beside the wise kept under
Visions of violence; to rape and plunder
How could it come to this? One can only wonder
Recycled anthems like rolling thunder

There’s a press that makes them dirty, you
Might as well follow suit, you’re in this too
Synapses fired on, burned to a crisp
By things of turning- pumping fists

They painted the night over beams of light
Famous men with knives; abysmal fights
There’s a rebel in here with no new words
There’s a face in there, might as well be yours

They got to me like I got to pain
I had their scent; gotta get to fame
Gotta get the fruits; gotta make a name
Seems the path to fame is paved in flames

They turned it all into fever’d screamin’
A world of black and danger; peeling
Over our heads like despoted fingers
They’re all madmen; they’re all rock ‘n roll singers

I’ve seen their ground zero – it’s beautiful
It’s measured, washed and musical
“There’s nothing wrong with our rotting throng-
-all these people want is bitter songs”

I’m slave to murder, sex, and drugs
Fulfilled- it’s like I’m made of love
I saw the gear that they brought to me
They didn’t turn the thing – that shit was me

I’ve said no more, I’ll say it no more
The slaves want whores what carry swords
Detox tomorrow – I need some more
What else do these people like me for?

To fold, collapse – it’s the only way
To leave the scene, to beat their game
I’m up to here with a million ways
To play and avoid a nameless grave

I’ll use their self-destruction card
To break me down – tear me apart
No drugs, no guns, no revolution
Popular upstart: no solution

You can’t make me wanna die no more
You can’t make me wanna be high no more
You can’t make me wanna confide no more
In your heroes; won’t take sides no more