the pain becomes your best friend,
your shrunken out of reach,
been out there saving toadstools,
when the princess is a Peach,

I caught me a falling star,
flickering to be fed,
and that horny old reptile,
I'm gonna jump upon his head,

It's all cause of me, (you know it's not)
 all cause of me, (you know its not your fault)

it's my fault for trying to love, (not your fault)
it's my fault for trying to breathe,(not your fault)
my fault for even dreaming of,(not your fault)
a world where the terrors don't teethe,

a world where a human can just BE,

shackled to a famish of form,
for a crime spree of hoping lovingly,
cackled through a stigmatic storm,
as the hornets and wasps won't let me bee,
in the middle of the night,
 in the middle alone,

in the middle of the night I'm lonely,
sometimes I even cry myself to sleep,
they've set my program pain to plight,
it'll be hurting me tonight,

in the middle of the night I'm horny,
self hypnosis keeps myself in me,
here I am thinking purer thoughts,
here I'm triplicating dots,

...

when you say it's alright to go in circles,
 cause your already there,
 and your already square,
when you say it's alright to go in circles,
 cause your already there,
 and your already square,

and I say: What do you mean?
 What do you mean?
 What do you mean?

when you say its alright to go in circles,
if your already square and your already there,
its alright to go in circles,
if your already square and your already there...


S' Not Alright


Magdalena Mirror was a saint and a seer,
 and a sin-eating scapegoat divine,
 for her sickness brought health and her need it brought wealth,
 and her love?... it brought never you mind,

With her mind over matters and her torn blessed tatters, 
 and her moth dusted garbage bag gown,
 will she hold a whole nation in rapt contemplation
 of the angles that fangle her frown,

She was swaddled in thorns from the day she was born,
 when they plastered her into the casting,
 in her stead it is said that the blood she had bled
 was bestower of life ever-lasting,

At the cleft of her cough, cadavers became soft,
 and her sneezing caused freezing to warm,
 with a vomiting wretch, true life's breath did she fetch,
 through the puking rebuke of a charm,

The reprise of her cries could unpry blinded eyes,
 so they kept her in burdens bereft,
 and they opened their ears as they drank from her tears, 
 which could heal both the dumb and the deaf,

the refrain of her pain could make one young again,
 so the Everyone lent her its ear,
 and the song that she sang was a high-hunger-pang,
 from a place beyond hatred or fear,

A place where the There, from the trees to the air,
 is calling, clothed in your own thought,
 again and again, the familiar refrain,
 in a language the tongue has forgot,

Jain Vangles 
