Mér datt í hug að pósta hér textanum hans Sage francis, runaways. Joe Beats pródúsar og þetta er af Personal Journals. Bara hein og bein snilld…!!!!!!!!!

It's time to rethink every fact that is imaginable.
Survival instinct dwells in a past that is inhabitable.
I happen to pull fast ones over the slow parole boards who like to speak,
To de-fanged wolves who cry sheep.
Time seeps into our skin. Age indicates how long we've been lost in space.
I keep putting expressionless looks on my face.
I'm an awful waste of human skin who waits for autumn to begin.
My fall from grace will do me in.
Too late…I'm out of seasoning.
No spring chicken summer romance novel writer could win a prize,
That's Nobel…go to hell in a writing vehicle that isn't winterized.
I've changed my mind more often than my undergarments about abortion and other nonsense
'Cuz I'm an orphan who comes from Providence
“I AM A SIGN FROM GOD” (For the parentally misguided) and I know,
My State is not an Ocean, not an Island, not a Rhode.
If I don't know where I come from then how do I know where to go?
It's not where you're from. Not where you're at. It's where you're going…and I am going home…
“To where?” The land of the lost souls.
Feeling a loneliness that really only exists in abandoned foster homes.
How many images of missing kids can be fit onto a milk carton. Framed.
They're all starting to look the same.
They're starting to say his name and claim privileges as if they found HIM.
The strangest little kids surrounding,
The circle of false friendship rings of fire arms are connected at the elbow,
Because their tired moms unexpectedly let go.
The velcro-like component that keeps their unit cohesive,
Is the music…so we give,
Reasons to get sober. Life experiences to hum to.
These kids play Red Rover? I look for weaknesses to run through
With reckless abandon. They're standing and refuse to go down.
Pinballs in their machine bounce between abusive homes now.
If it's fight or flight they'll just choose to throw down.
Ain't nothing like beating a dead horse and riding it through a ghost town.
I move with no sound. Used to think I was invisible,
Until they stopped me mid-stride and said “I think I've seen a picture of you.”
Picture that. I said, “Nah…I've just got one of those faces,
Placed next to an expiration date that changes.”
I kind of look familiar. My name is on the tip of your tongue.
The lost look on my face makes you play dumb.
Say something colloquial. I need to get my bearings and a feel for where I'm at,
But you ain't hearing that.
They shout “FREEZE!” I'm a tourist trapped by townies/
Who put bounties out on me in all surrounding counties/
Before I bounce I hear them shout “Can someone help us out, please?/
We're all alone in the foster home killing ourselves with the house keys!”/
Not every broken home can come equipped with a fix-it-man,
And it's a smelly mess once the shit hits the fan.
Kids just stand in their Circle. Jerks with their dicks in the sand,
Saying, “Fuck the world!” ‘Cuz they ain’t got no girl, but who do they think I am?
Think again. I'm not that quick to plan ahead of time.
I'm two steps behind their schedule. They pretend to have read my mind.
I think they just misread the lines on the palm of my hand ‘cause,
They’re random scars caused from slap boxing with landlords.
I ran with the dogs until I realized they were all mutts,
Turn bitch once the dog catchers caught up.
Forced into trucks. Boarded up. Put to sleep in the pound.
Being an orphan sucks…but I'm sick of sneaking around.
I see my frown posted up on street lights and telephone poles.
From what they show it seems like I never get old.
From what they show it seems like I'll never go home.
And that doesn't seem right…because they won't let me grow.
This is where some go…
To avoid the sun rays and the noise of subways.
Emerging introverted, unemployed and unshaved.
I feel rewarded offering a finder's fee that I know no one will pay.
This is where some go…
To avoid the sun rays and the noise of subways.
Emerging introverted, unemployed and unshaved.
I've got multiple personalities and my inner children are runaways.
And I know
My State is not an Ocean. Not an Island. Not a Rhode.
If I don't know where I come from how will I know where to go?
It's not where you're from. Not where you're at. It's where you're goingAnd I am