Buford Youthward

Then you wonder where all the oxygen went.

And get to know when a good thing is gone.

Who cares if the devil protests that you will

always be a hyena gnawing on rifle stock.

Discoursing over artificial cherry and non-chalant grape liquids

with lyric repetition and melodic invention

waiting as great despondence settles in

You can try and create mystery but you can't escape who you are

Cross hatching bulls eyes, halos,

zig zags, dots, ill tempered individuals

under famous moons.

Untitled to their entitlement

Setting forts on fire while setting suns settle

carjacking my heart

shoplifting my soul

earjackin' conversations

using dry, tight passages

creating dreamy senses of fantasy

Forever refusing forecasts fostering

ineptitude with insufficient cover

A collection of desires

And moments of maximum tension

Get drowsy with drink

Driving stakes into the eyeballs of tomorrow

Quick witted heroes escape

Abstracting sonic references to concrete visions

soundtracks of survival,

soundtracks of denial

images pulsing with sound

As boring as the literal details

on trial for utilizing not analyzing

The fire of an idea,

while sketches are still in progress

Eloquence doesn't always have a pretty face

But beauty is not that far from the

Half strength of a single tear drop

Personifing a moment

mixing Machine gun melodies and rockabilly rhythms

Preaching the gospel, singin' out the hymnal

Keeping my overhead low

Not everyone is born to crash and burn.

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