(Henry) first there was my birth then chaos came quickly I tried to keep from going nuts but growing up was tricky when home seemed to be where the delirious roamed tried to hint them ‘bout my secrets – like talking to a stone that’s no way to treat your children – it will either kill them or isolate them from the world as if their name was Peter Stillman but well – anyhow – that’s me in a nutshell after all I stuck around since then I’ve had my ups and downs both embraced and fucked around picked up and smacked back on the ground reminiscing over times that I’m now missing I’ve written so many rhymes about you wise one what’s the point of denying the truth you’re no longer my butterfly – you’re but a fly in my soup an aching memory of my dying old youth spreading through my thoughts and it’s burning like hell maybe I should try to come to terms with myself well it’s time to begin – I’ve got a list now of my sins tattooed all over my body on the inside of my skin a pain I can’t explain except that in time it’ll win am I dead or just asleep? there’s but a thin line in between now I’m about to leave you – see I encountered evil and looked straight into it’s deadlights just to see what it felt like it didn’t kill me but sure it made me tipsy call me Henry Bowers – it’s the only name that fits me
I’ve got a dark secret and you dared me to show it I take credit for these songs but I’m barely a poet I’m but a messenger as far as I can tell these songs seem to write themselves
(Séamus) I am but a vessel for the message in any situation where words run the track like a train in search of a station I stay cryptic enough for open interpretation still plain enough to convey narrow scoped information it’s just a part of my mysterious charm with a wide range span between delirious and calm it’s fairly long gone but I’m serious mom this far it hasn’t succumbed to any serious harm meanwhile – conspiracy bombs drop at an exponential rate FRA legislate straight phone tapping – great! bend over once again for the eye in the sky annihilating those who won’t try to comply we die in denial without scanning the bigger picture I throw my words in the batch to add to a thicker mixture packing a mean elixir helping me to self contain independent thought but who’s independent, mayn? where all products of what surrounds our slot – plenty of free thinkers resort to be drinkers once they figure out not many can win a bigger bout without compromising so resort to the TV couch receiving strong enticing of new products ready to flood every country, state borough and hood with currents reoccurring to generate currency excess for a minority that’s reckless Shame and Henry project over Lo-kut’s success
I’ve got a dark secret and you dared me to show it I take credit for these songs but I’m barely a poet I’m but a messenger as far as I can tell these songs seem to write themselves