The Rose

[trap.]

Title: "One Last Newport"
By: The Rose




The end of my rope is the end of the innocence
These people killing me in inches like carcinogens
An aqua-marine coffin and my inner-sense
And a flame that burns out as loud as Sam Kinison's
And I can't concentrate through this tubercular cough and
So I can't think straight; I'll use circular logic
Seems everyone these days claims they're workin' on projects
But we're all out in the cold, time to circle tobaggans
And I came this way before, yeah, the fact is I ran
'Cause I know this old road like the back of my hand
And it's always been contentious like Iraq and Iran
Explained away in the chorus lines of "Jack & Diane"
But because the thrill is gone don't mean it didn't exist
I know there's someone out there, life is givin' them fits
And they're maybe even thinkin' about slittin' their wrists
And if I tried to name them all, I'd never finish the list
And that's just not something I'm ready for...
I don't know anything any more, send that in semaphore...

Stay strong,
The Rose

[Saint]

''American Beauty'' posted 9-27-99 at 7:58 PM EST

by Mick Foley aka TheRose

My piece of apple pie was obtained the day I capitalized
And stopped looking on her as young meat with animal eyes
Cannibalized, anticon wisdom practices cannibalism
Their insincerity sticks out like anachronisms
In period pieces, the most mysterious beast is
The man who dedicates to raw emotion a serious thesis
With myriad reasons, I stay natural like I'm whole grain
The one to the other was like Bird to Coltrane
An old stain washed away, a day wrapped in mysogeny
Think of my progeny, wish them all to shine on argently
In Camelot where Lancelot keeps his lawn green
And married a prom queen, son I woke up from a long dream
Call it American beauty, call it my piece of the rock
And I love it like Chocolate City, like the sheep to the flock
Like the cream to the top, like a Sunday on the gridiron
With the BBQ spitfirin, my dreams confessed to William Styron
I said I just need some companionship to manage shit
As I stand in it, nobody on this earth likes abandonment
I need my better tomorrow without heroic bloodshed
Fuck raising the undead, some thing are better unsaid
And unheard, too many cats dwell on the absurd
Progress can't be obtained sifting through the buzzwords
Or were those buzzards? To some of you we're only carrion
I carry-on my emotional baggage like a tagalong
You must look at me like I'm straight from the mothership
But that other shit, that's my beauty, I discovered it
That's my contribution, that's my betterment
That's my future settlement, that's what I test my mettle with
For the scent of gold, how many men would crush a gental soul?
My only dream's a soulmate to keep my mental whole
Far from flawless, Shakespearian sonnets that love regardless
In the perfect world after all existance is the hardest
What's the point in life if you're always perfect tenning?
I'll be happy with my Annette Bening, select ending...

Stay strong,
Mick