The Wooden Pic, or sort of the gift for one of my brothers

I met a place in my mind where no doubts, or judges stand to critize,
where there's a lot of noise, but at the same time...everything is calm.

Perpetual voices scream and shout
their desires, their needs, their pain, their joy...
No one needs to be sedated
No one needs to find a way
No one needs to be sane
When you're in this place.

I know you love to visit,
to get knee deep into this shit
to inmerse yourself in all the crazy combinations
of deluded selfs, of rushed feelings,
of crushed meanings...in that place in your mind.

This is the road to crazyville and I'm loving it.

Anger swells and burns,
stretching veins,
making me one huge flame,
of dissapointment,
or regret...
The voices speak but I can't hear
I chose to forget why they live here.

You don't know me, don't judge, I already have the voices to tell me
I'm a failure sometimes.
I scream
I scream
I scream

Let the voices go for a walk
Let them tell me what to do
Let them guide me
into this town
into my mind
into this place
into pain
into a flashing of what has been my life.

You don't know me at all...
I bend and feel I could crack at minute now...
Sometimes anger is not enough
Hate is not enough
Regret is not enough
Violence is not enough
I feel it building... and blood is not enough.

I hit
and hit
I scream
and scream
this town is my sight...
You know its all about to start...I lost it... and let frustration take over.

I'm broken...maybe its time to start another...
God knows I'm not out of voices...