it's the eve of that big day again
when millions of people pillage packages
heaving and scattering souls
feasting and singing
and I simply cannot be
an Eve to this belief
even though they think I am strange
or a heretic or a devil
draped and deranged
because they must desecrate
they must decorate
they must decide to
conserve for their word
or want to waste in one jolly
plastic slide
they fatten up their apathy
preying on foul raised especially
for days like these
awaiting little bows
and bowls of steam
my legs begin to ache
as they break another green thing
c:
I just want to find Alaska
and the largest blanket of snow
and bury my face under the covers
frozen until a time I can better know
the season steals
every warm breath from my
"saved soul"
oh yes and there's no more stars
left in the sky for me to see glow
they're all in boxes at big stores
down special aisles with special whores
ready to listen to empty wishes
based on how many cups come with those
dishes
why do we make such a chaos
of a baby anyway?
isn't that exactly the opposite of the point?
what would that poor man say?
would he too find Alaska
and the largest blanket of snow
and bury his face under the covers
frozen until a time he can better know
maybe that's the reason why
this eve of nothing continues
and that deified bastard peasant
continues not to show
I don't know but if I were he
I would have frozen long ago
brought only snow
and buried the believers who
refuse to truly
grow
Ellee 2001
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