PITCHERS OF SILENCE 

i never held a funeral for that big part of me that died.
i need to put these thoughts to rest. i need to find a peace of mind.
i need to piece my mind, find a piece of mind to rest in.
need to find someone to confide in, and with the rest i need to start restin'.
needless to say, i couldn't hide.
fifteen grown men shouldn't cry.

had i known then what i know now.
had i thought now what i knew then...
i might still be human
with all the little stupid fix-ins.
as i fix sins and vixens vick souls,
stitch clothes for the characters they play then switch roles.
nail me to the cross dress.
the holy cloth costs less.
i'd toss less
if i still had your soft breasts to rest my head on.
since you've been gone,
i recalled my issues with problems and hate
but i can't exactly remember the model or make.
now glass bottles break in my death grip.
i'm about to take the next quick exit and end this head trip.
my bed's stripped of its blankets, comforters, pillows and sheets,
but i might have to peel off all my skin to remove your scent in order to sleep.

i had my highs and lows.
when on top, i let you peek out over my nose.
sitting on my shoulders and i suppose if i had a backbone,
you might still be here.
my skin is filthy...
from my lows when you weren't there. but to keep from feeling guilty,
i collected the dirt (collected the dirt)...kept it piling up.
now mr. feel nothing saves his tears inside of a cup
and he drinks (and he drinks). and he forgets that he's an asshole.
jealous of his ghosts and doubts he even has a soul.

my secret pleasures have my inner demons gossiping.
i'm a ghost writer for the horrorcore lyrics my personal monsters sing.

i'm sitting in a stranger's tub...
with all my clothes on...shivering...considering the dangers of love.

they get half of what i have to give...if that.
it's all about the packaging. they're distracted by the gift rap.

predictable. easy to manipulate.
they're foreshadow puppets and i'm waiting for their strings to break.

the pillars that once held up my halfway house have been taken out.
i'm in my last days now.
there's a change coming soon.
i just want to crawl back into my mother's womb.
i need a comfort zone,
but obviously i need to find another home
to call my own...and always return to
and i want it to be you (i want it to be you).

i sit and stare, zone out, think a lot and never sleep,
creating memories to remember and then i forget to eat.
went to the street you used to live on, staring at the bedroom window of your old home
with puppy eyes...waiting for god to throw me a bone.

i'd settle for one more goodbye kiss while i settle for less.
i'm unsettled at best. sulking while abandoning settlements.
insulting my companions intelligence...conversing with baby talk.
practicing mind games. rehearsing with playful thought.

it's the way we fought that made my blood bubble then turn cold,
when you made me walk through rain and mud puddles on a dirt road.
it left me so messy,
forget me...not.

i've got more mud to sling...

shot.
"through the heart, and your to blame, you give love a bad name."

POLTERZEITGEIST 

Why you goin around, trying to keep people outta hell?
I'm goin around, trying to keep the hell outta people.

Your evil sends chills through my bones
And it flows through the back roads of arteries.
Genetic mammary fights technology
Administered by moral midgets
This picket signs in my eyes when they strike
You'll wanna talk business.
Note to self; go for self, go for broke
No one else ever showed you the ropes or helped
And what are they supposed to do?
Of course they gotta rebuild every wall that you broke
on through.
Drugs wont get my thoughts running, I need them to make
thoughts stop coming
Last night I had dream I shot someone
When I awoke my hands were full of the fluid my hearts
pumping
I went to get it tested, the doctor was not so
interested in analyzing the message
He had a pill, that if he issues out
He gets paid on the side, Got a lifetime supply.

(hook)
Maybe hes the ghost, and maybe I'm the host
The polterzietgeist who knows the right price
To pay the priest to release me from these ropes
and
Maybe I'm the ghost, and maybe hes the host
The polterzietgeist who knows the right price
To pay the priest to release me from these ropes

Fell into a Venus fly trap with a nicotine eye-patch
Tired of the shift sipping Listerine night caps.
disguised her voice with the breath of a clean slate
awake every morning to the death of my dream date.
selling sex to cheapskates with rusty blades
fuck it forget and call it layaway
Got an addiction to thin ice
the whisper of wind pipes
I'm mister insight, the social costume's skin tight
nah, I don't believe in you
and you don't believe that I'm leaving you.
as you shrink away to nothing in my rear view
to close to call, to far to be hearing you
singing my melody I heard it subconsciously
you spoke in your sleep, and it sounded like honesty
When you awoke you said "it was not for me"
I said "oh, I know obviously"
You're not my yo-yo so I dropped the photo
and I rocked this solo now you gots to go

(hook)

Maybe you're a ghost, and I'm the conduit
the kinda thread in every superficial compliment
the loose string in your moral fabric
holding your logic, hopelessly romantic
and (??)
Leaving notes for the next to come
written in blood from the wound that they'll exit from
I don't compose rows or sonnets I just write like my
life depends on it
Front like I'm agnostic, but I don't believe in you
You got a transparent nature that I'm seeing through
somebody spiked the punch that you beat me to
sometimes I'm not even sure its even you.

(hook)

SEA LION 

The force of my love was strong
The Sea Lion lay down long
Song in the air, why should singer care?
When singer can be among song

Ma, ma, look what I did, ma
Look what i did to my hands, I broke 'em
You gave me the stone, gave me the chisel
Didn't say how to hold 'em

Didn't say to give away every piece of the puzzle
Till I was left with nothin'
But I took it upon myself to crush it up
And distribute the dust

Get in the bus, hop in the van
Jump in the water, crawl to the land
Build another castle out of sand
Break it down and then get into the saddle again

I'm going city to city, I'm already lost
Tell the boss who is new in town
I'll ride this horse till it it bucks me off
And I'm forced to shoot it down

I'll take him out for some gasoline
Trade this cow for some magic beans
Gonna make mom proud of the deals that I made
'Cause I'm just a modern day Johnny Appleseed

But I'm glad that I never passed the genes
And I never put down the axe
Piano man got a checkered dance floor to grace
And a painful look on his face

'Cause the crowd is packed and the louder they clap
The less he is able to make the connection between what he sees
When he hears certain notes and the hurt
That is shown in his facial expression ah

I don't need your "Go ahead" to go ahead
No, I know no one said it was gonna be easy
But sweet Jesus who wants to sleep with me?
Too many moves to learn

Not enough people to put 'em on
Look it, mom, no hands
I built this suit of armor with wooden arms

SLOW MAN 

I'm a slow man...looking for a slow woman who wants to
slow dance. I'm a slow man in my slow man stance.
Looking for a slow woman who don't care that I'm old
lookin'.

Or got my soul tooken back where the fallen angels
land.
I know Brooklyn like the back of a stranger's hand.
Can't recognize my own...I wing it though.
I bring it home. Familiarity's the first thing to go.
Next thing you know...there's a photo that you're staring
at.
And you can't quite place the face that is staring
back.
Someone erased the names and the facts, dates on the
back.
Maybe they're just fading so fast
that you can't keep up with it. Can't recover it.
Lost in the shuffle of the Grand Prix hustlers.
If you can't keep up to speed with the mother ship
and can't take the heat then your man needs the oven
mitts.
I can't be the judge of it. These hands bleed
'cause they reached for some answers and got trampled
by a stampede
of know-it-all homogeneous types. The look-alikes.
The kids burn my music and the parents burn the books I
write.
I think back to those lonely Brooklyn nights.
I was either soul searching or just looking for fights.
Each woman had her price. The dice didn't roll right.
All my jobs were odd ones, my problems had bold type.
Snow White didn't expect that I'd leave 'er.
The strobe light set off epileptic seizures.
I know right from wrong when I write these songs.
My goals in life ain't what I set my sights on.

Slow man. Gotta get up and go, man. I know, man. It's
like I'm half of a whole man. Gotta get back on the
program. So let's go, man.

I'm a slow man...in my slow man stance.
Looking for a slow woman who wants to slow dance.
I'm a slow man in my slow man stance.
Looking for a slow woman who don't mind my home
cookin'.

I'm no good when I'm a bad, bad man.
I'm gonna dance so slow that it appears to be my last
stand.
But I'm a bad bad man.
I'm gonna dance so slow that it looks like a photo.

THE BABY STAYS 

I got nothing to teach the learnin' curve of your body
i got teeth that could hurt you prolly
with one bite
a tongue with spikes, a rusty knife
i wish you'd take it from me
an gut me like a fish. up tight and selfish
got a lust for life and a death wish
they're husband and wife and they
fuck like they're helpless
am i a product of uninteresting sex
If I'm bored by your pillow-talk and Newport
cigarettes?
She chews on fiberglass like a teething infant
he breathes in her stink and seems indifferent
she dreams of children
He hears the pitter-patter of little fetuses
He's like "stand by me,
there's a leech in my briefs and it's bleeding like a
stuck pig
Come quick!"
Think of a baby's name, she wanted to call it Quits
I'mma name him Raymond and raise him
like I don't know my own strength
and bench-press the baby naked

Hold it to the sky, like "look what I did!
It's mine, and you can't have it."
Until it rains, and when it rains
he sticks out his tongue to catch it
The baby stays

He just stares into the abyss 'til the abyss blinks
instincts pop up to the surface like pinpricks
still flinch
manhandle the killswitch
peg meet square, get dismantled by drill-bits
the deconstruction of a functional addict
leaving assumptions to a bunch of fanatics
it's just standard procedure
with a automatic pilot light
hide behind a white lab rain coat 'cause the water
broke
press eject
first comes the head, then the neck
then the body avalanches out the tape deck
flappin' on the ground like a fish out of its element
No one wants to acknowledge the carnage, the mess or
elephant
that's in the room
connected to the womb with a lifeline
labored all day through the morning noon and nighttime
then we cut the cord, fully aware
what we keep on the inside's too personal to share
now we hold it in the air, like "look what happened!"
If we throw it out with the bath water
will you catch it?
or let it go down the drain
if it goes down the drain I'mma snatch it
The baby stays
The baby stays

And I'mma hold it to the sky, like "look what I did!
It's mine, and you can't have it."
Until it rains, and when it rains
he sticks out his tongue to catch it
The baby stays
The baby stays
The baby stays

THE BEST OF TIMES 

It's been a long and lonely trip but I'm glad that I
took it because it was well worth it.
I got to read a couple books and do some research
before I reached my verdict.
Never thought that I was perfect. Always thought that I
had a purpose.
Used to wonder if I'd live to see my first kiss.

The most difficult thing I ever did was recite my own
words at a service
realizing the person I was addressing probably wasn't
looking down from heaven.
Or cooking up something in hell's kitchen, trying to
listen in or eaves drop from some another dimension.
It was self serving just like this is.

Conveniently religious on Easter Sunday and on
Christmas.
The television went from being a babysitter to a
mistress.
Technology made it easy for us to stay in touch while
keeping a distance,
'til we just stayed distant and never touched. Now all
we do is text too much.

I don't remember much from my youth. Maybe my memory is
repressed.
Or I just spent too much time wondering if I'd live to
have sex.
Fell in love for the first time in 4th grade but I
didn't have the courage to talk to her.
In 8th grade I wrote her the note but I slipped it in
someone else's locker.

Considered killing myself 'cause of that.
It was a big deal. It was a blown cover.
It was over for me. My goose was cooked.
Stick a fork it me. The jig is up.
I blew my chances, the rest is history, our future was
torn asunder.
It became abundantly clear that I was only brought here
to suffer.

At least I didn't include my name.
Thankfully I wrote the whole note in code
and it had 10 layers of scotch tape safety seal making
it impossible to open.
Plus, it was set to self destruct.
Whoever read it probably died...laughing.
I wonder if they lived long enough to realize what
happened.

A year later, I came to understand that wasn't love
that I was feeling for her.
I had someone else to obsess over.
I was older. I was very mature.
I forged my time signature while practicing my parents
autograph 'cause I was failing math.
Disconnected the phone when I thought the teacher would
call my home.

I checked the mailbox twice a day at the end of a long
dirt road.
Steamed open a couple envelopes like I was in private
detective mode.
If you snoop around long enough for something in
particular you're guaranteed to find it.
For better or worse that's how I learned that it's best
to just keep some things private.

It was the best of times. It was the end of times.

It was the best of times. It was the end of times.
I was always on deck, I was next in line.
An only child with a pen and pad writing a list of
things that I could never have.
The walls in my house were paper thin.
Every squabble seemed to get deafening.
If my memory serves me correctly I made it a point to
void and forget some things.
Probably to keep from being embarrassed.
Never meant to upset or give grief to my parents.
Kept my secrets...hid my talents...
in my head, never under the mattress.

Therapy couldn't break me.
Never learned a word that would insure safety.
So I spoke softly and I tip toed often.
The door to my room was like a big old coffin.
The way that it creeked when I closed it shut.
Anxieties peaked when it opened up.
As if everything that I was thinking would be exposed.
I still sleep fully clothed.

It was the best of times. It was the end of times.

It was beautiful.
It was brutal.
It was cruel.
It was business as usual.

Heaven. It was hell.
Used to wonder if I'd live to see 12.

When I did I figured that I was immortal.
Loved to dance but couldn't make it to the formal.
Couldn't bear watching my imaginary girlfriend
bust a move with any other dudes.

Tone Loc was talking bout a 'Wild Thang'
but I was still caught up in some child thangs.
Scared of a God who couldn't spare the rod.
It was clearly a brimstone and fire thang.

Pyromaniac. Kleptomaniac.
Couldn't explain my desire to steal that fire.
Now I add it to my rider.
Like 'Please oh please don't throw me in that patch of
brier!'

It was the best of times. It was the end of times.

The school counselor was clueless 'cause I never
skipped classes.
Perfect attendance. Imperfect accent.
Speech impediment they could never really fix
and I faked bad eyesight so I could wear glasses.

Considered doing something that would cripple me.
I wanted a wheelchair. I wanted the sympathy.
I wanted straight teeth so then came braces.
4 years of head gear helped me change faces.

It was the best of times. It was the end of times.

Now I wonder if I'll live to see marriage.
Wonder if I'll live long enough to have kids.
Wonder if I'll live to see my kids have kids.
If I do I'm gonna tell 'em how it is.

'Don't listen when they tell you that these are your
best years.
Don't let anybody protect your ears.
It's best that you hear what they don't want you to
hear.
It's better to have pressure from peers than not have
peers.
Beer won't give you chest hair. Spicy food won't make
it curl.
When you think you've got it all figured out and then
your universe collapses...
trust me, kid... it's not the end of the world."

THE EMPEROR'S NEW CLOTHING 

Written By: Sage Francis

I listen for secrets hidden in whispers...in the winter time/
And catch them tickling my whiskers...colliding with wind chimes/
The kind that send shivers...up and down tingling spines/

Thinking time could stretch if...

we'd spin a design inside our web that would catch drifts/
The type that blow out birthday candles before we make our death wish/

I'm waiting for a message in my calling so I'm checking my voice mail,
and I'm answering machines with man-made dreams.
Man made bandaids to cover up the seams.
The cover-up seems to only work if the wound never opens up or bleeds.

Beads of sweat form above the eyes of a heathen Emperor/
Who won't get on his feet and step outside into the freezing temperature/
He wants to adjust the global thermostat/
But he's so remote...and you can't control the world like that/

Come to find these eggs ain't even golden.
I see depreciation in the family jewels the Queen is holding.
That broken marraige was fixed. It happened when her feet were frozen.
She still remains to be the only one who's seen the Emperor's new clothing...

THE STRANGE FAMOUS MULLET REMOVER 

Closing out our feature for you now
Captain of our slam team - Sage Francis.

It was the (beatboxing) that got me (beatboxing)
It was the (beatboxing) break (beatboxing)

It was the...(beatboxing) 8x
Name's Francis but everybody calls me free baby
any of you guys call me Francis
and ill kill you
and i dont like nobody touching my style
i catch any of you guys in my style i'll kill you
also i dont like anybody touching me
and any of you homos touch me and ill kill you

"I cant settle down here, I cant. I gotta be free. I'm not, I enjoy company in a woman, I. I love you. It's just eh. I don't need em. See you know thats the way it is when you're a true artist, let my feelings come out in my music" - Sage

"Yeah well maybe if you put your feelings out in real life, then your music will be even better" - Woman

THREE SHEETS TO THE WIND 

Had one too many one way conversations
with the licky licky lord
'till I grew a scissor tongue
and c-c-cut the cord
put the phone on the floor
attach the wires in my head
took awhile to except that that line was dead
(chorus)
didn't never wanna not live forever x3
didn't never wanna not not wanna live

didn't matter if the laughter didn't come after the bad
joke,
if i was down with the filthy rich or flat broke,
accepted by the Aryans or black folk
cause i was carrying this weight until my back broke,
wasn't trying to be no hip hop god or raps goat(?)
shootin to be a rock star like its my last hope
Eyeballin that pack of smokes DO ME IN!
graduatin on the crack coc DO ME IN!
knocked of a paddle boat in the middle of the castle
moat
kings men are yelling GRAB THE ROPE!

three sheets to the wind three!three sheets to the
wind!

i talk like a sailor my mother is one that's why i got
this sixth sense of direction and my split tongue
taught me how to go with the flow when the winds come
curled up in a ball and tried to hide inside a kick
drum. while the crew is gettin piss drunk i had to
purify my own and drink up i had to save and conserve
recycle my salty words to keep the meat on my bonesaw
pres-s-s-served.

UNDERBITE BEN FINDS GOD SPOKEN WORD (03) 

I remember once I found God. He was so happy. I found
him in
the card catalog at the public library. Nobody looks
there
anymore. Thanks to duey decimal I found him. Feasting
on his
manhood just to stay alive. He could have feasted off
that
monster for centuries. Serious, he was hung like this.
You
figure finding god might win you automatic entry into
Hellven but no. I have to fool myself there, just like
everybody else. Then I said, "AH, CAN I GET THREE
WISHES?!"
"I'm not that kind of god", he said. He did teach me
sign
language so I wouldn't have to fog up my mirror with
these
long winded self-evaluations every morning. "Look at
you,
concave man." You know what concave means? We have a
young
crowd. It means I have an innie instead of an outie.
The
best thing about being concave, besides having your
balls
look so huge and out of place, it's the midgets. They
crawl
inside and paint pictures on the wall. A little person
died
there once. That's what I mean when I mention the
ghosts.
I'm haunted, down there. Welcome to my world. It's a
world
where all the well endowed animals of this planet
simultaneously die from a horrible case of womb envy.
It's a
world where Natalie Portman stalks me, and she's still
14,
and it's ok, 'cause it's my world baby. It's a world
where
when you multiply a negative number by a negative
number,
you don't get a positive number, YOU GET A BIGGER
NEGATIVE
NUMBER! And I don't have to *beatboxes* to keep you
interested. Mommies don't die, she never left me, and
there's not dark sweat marks where my fucking heart
should
be. When I fly, it's first class bitch. All they serve
is
vegetarian meals on my flight. The guy on the side of
me's
pissed. "Excuse me. Please check the back, see if you
got
one with chicken in it maybe? Maybe someone could get
me
chicken." "I'm sorry sir, you gotta call forty-eight
hours
ahead of time to get your meat meal." He's none too
pleased,
so he calls me on his cellphone, to tell me about his,
superbowl show! I DON'T KNOW! Wanna flow? Go to go. Toe
to
toe. I don't rock polo. He gets bombarded by all these
public service announcments that let him know, "YOU
SUPPORTED TERRORISM BY PAYING TAXES and driving all
over the
place, you could have just fucking walked down the
street."
FACT! And I laughed, all the way to the sperm banks,
soccer
mom. Haha, it's not my world, it's his. The big white
guy in
the sky. I'm stuck down here, lookin' into my foggy
mirror,
peering into my concave, practicing my math on all you
poor
aborted fetus's. Reminding myself how far away I am
from
God. I chopped off my dick, shoved it into my asshole,
and
smuggled it out of the country, FOR YOU!!!