Burnt Pencil

Gettin' over it.
Movin' on an' on.
Scatchin' heels on burning ground.
Down the drowning clown.
Green shots down,
Tubular bells.
While Nemesis sleeps,
Caveman dwells.
Limited, in time and space.
A crushing, gasping, choke,
Of Breath from newborn lungs, it was,
Took while silence spoke.
For every bullet in the gun,
There's two birds in the bush.
And every bird that's in the hand,
Puts bullets into man.
A twisted core of,
Fire-wire can,
In looking see,
Far more than men,
From ages past,
Could pray to Hogs,
To dream again.
Run you dogs.