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BOUND
Wading
deep in the
Shallow end of the gene pool.
Dog paddle over and under the next fool.
Neon scaled fishes,
Leather bound,
Wrapped 'round the bar entranced by the TV
Never by the sound.
Have I been in here before?
Weeds round my ankles keep me from the shore.
I know the tide is rolling in.
Will I ever feel the ground again?
Dressed
to impress
And spoiled with a juvenile outlook.
Butter him up and wiggle back down
- the fry cook.
A mini-clad guppy,
Altar bound,
Clings to the bouncer; craving the singer -
She never hears a sound.
Have
I been in here before?
Weeds round my ankles keep me from the shore.
I know the tide is rolling in.
Will I ever feel the ground again?
Keeping
afloat in the muck of this moat
Is a strange thing.
'Cause bottom dwellers with heated tempers,
Pack a weak sting.
Marinated in valor,
Handcuff bound.
Intoxicated by his angry blurred vision
His voice will not resound.
Have
I been in here before?
Weeds round my ankles keep me from the shore.
I know the tide is rolling in.
Will I ever feel the ground again?
Navigate
the rapids
Sirens scream of passion's fire.
I'm trying not to fall overboard
And drown in old desire.
The vengeful scent of skin,
Peace was found.
For a brief moment barely remembered
With feet above the ground.
Have
I been in here before?
Weeds round my ankles keep me from the shore.
I know the tide is rolling in.
Will I ever feel the ground again?
1998
Natives Are Restless * All Rights Reserved
Published by Natives Are Restless * ASCAP
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