It’s just an itch beneath the skin
I can’t get it out or seal it in
I can’t dislodge the need to scratch it
Screaming from it’s root
It’s an echo inside my head
A need to say what can’t be said
It’s the nerve tattoo,such a bad rash
Spiteful and divine
But thats OK
It doesn’t matter anyway
It’s still those with the least to say
That will be heard…
Ah,the elloquence of trash
The persuasiveness of cash
Rings true like the whispered lies
Of half-forgotten lullabyes;
Designed to please ,
Designed to soothe
Designed to shift amillion units or two
Designed to mean nothing at all
For anyone
But thats OK