A Man About It

You hate to be so spineless and a ghost has no soul,
An object will decline to a subject of control,
The best even a king can do is be a man about it,
And if god says it’s true every little devil will doubt it.
I could use a little anarchy,
Like to make my knuckles bleed,
I could use a little anarchy,
To find a little peace.
They all love the bad-boys but they pray they’ll be good, But the neighbors are
named after the neighborhood,
I’ll be an angel to put the song of god on her lips,
Put the light of my hot shadow to her hips.
I could use a little anarchy,
Like to make my knuckles bleed,
I could use a little anarchy,
To find a little peace.
Your mortal-coil charged with the chronic desire of dissatisfaction,
Like some kind of blank-thought looking for some action, But good dreamers make
bad sleepers and this world is a war,
And everything you ever wanted couldn’t solve the square-root of more.
I could use a little anarchy,
Let my mandated hungers feed,
I could use a little anarchy,
To find a peace.
Like to break the bones of this trap but I live off the bait, Maybe over-throw
the puppet regime of my pseudo-state,
But I take the wine to my blood; turn it to piss in my veins,
A man about it; you pay off your pains.