Taken for a Ride

Marvin walked into a helpless land and wondered lightly
"Am I happy?"
"Is this happy?"
Following the footsteps left by man
He stepped to reprimand the mystic
So sadistic

Better half a century passed on later
Thought I'd be the next curator of this story
15 months not faltered once
Victorian dunce turned pico-luminary
This is scary

Listening to painted whispers
Pastel wailings, matte disquiet

Next the stranded cynic sits and toils
His fits and foils written slowly
Nothing's holy
Emotion versus cognition
Trial the pathos logos fission
This explosion of devotion

Lonely sulking halves that wanted
Just a taste of closure to implore them
To start living
30 hours each with minimal outreach
Not for sale, for fun
It's free, friend
Come to the deep end

Gazing on the abscessed silence
Woeful strokes of chordal whims

One solitary smile to go that extra mile
To make me feel today
To make it go away
The chemistry is gone
Taken for a ride
Far away from you
No longer left inside

Actor with his trident crown and blindfold
Smiled and counted three by nine-fold
Is it over?
Or is he just a cycle now interned?
A bridled foreword
The beginning of an era

Study write practice record
Program mix master film and edit
Then publish to the ether
Rinse repeat sir
When questioned, simply smile and wave
Look on your pile and say
Well, I'm no lightweight
Jesus Christ mate

Listening in tandem
To a sorrow of forgotten hills

One solitary smile to goad these woes and wiles
To help me see the day
I'll happily throw away
This chemistry of old
These beakers and vials
Far away from through
I'll come back in a while

One secondary smile to go that extra mile
To make me feel today
To make it go away
The chemistry is gone, taken for a ride
Far away from you
No longer left inside

There are no secrets anymore
I've laid them all out on the floor
(They're all for you)
You want something?

You know more about me than my family
All these sick unsightly maladies
Staving off the due insanity
Haptic feedback half-baked blasphemies
27 songs are yours
My blood, my sweat, my open doors
I've hurt reviled and reconciled
500 fucking hours and I'm finally getting bored

This story isn't over
I'm not sure that it's begun
But I'd just like to spend some more time
Enjoying being one

My quill is dry, my flat-line nigh
My tears arranged and poured
And yet still you want for more?

I think it's better when you don't plan things
Because you get too disappointed in things
But, I, this wasn't planned, it just grew
Started one little machine, then two, and five, and six
Only thing I'd probably do is like to have a bigger place
To display more things that I get rid of 'em
But on the other hand, big is not better, it's, better is what's better
I think, I like that quote "Better is better"