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Christians and Lions
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Gimme Diction
It's like some overbearing tax on praxis;
how I'm supposed to feel bad for this
when all I've sworn to do
is hold soul like a cold in haunted bronchial tubes.
And my love for you
is harmless as fallen fruit.
'Picked up quick how nice
a jaw cradles a fist -
you made it look like an accident
and no (no)
one finds truth
among tooth that march 'round
my parched mouth
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slinging science to the beat of their own gums.
Ooh (ooh)-ahh-la-lies we advertise.
Bastardized pidgin insult,
a lingua franca of
heroes and villains:
Failure.
I don't know it any more than I know success -
it ain't my mess.
I won't baby you, won't wipe your mouth
when the shit-talk stops.
Oh, stop.
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