DR Dizturbed_1

TIME FOR THE RUBBER ROOM JR.

What a skeletal wreck of a Gym this is, Translucent flesh and feeble bones The kind of temple where the whores and villians try to tempt the holistic tones, Running rampant with free thought to free form the free and clear, And the matters at hand are shelled out like lint at a laundromat to sift and focus on the bigger, better, NOW. We all have a little sin that needs venting, virtues for the rending and laws and systems and stems ripped from the branches of office do you know what your post entails? Do you serve a purpose or purposely serve? Wind down inside your adivistic allure, the value of a summer spent and a winter earned. For the rest of us there is always Sunday. The day of the week that reeks of rest but all we do is catch our breath so we can wade naked into the bloody pool and place our hand on the big black book, To watch the knives zigzag between our aching fingers. A vacation is a countdown T minus your life and counting, Time to drag your tongue across the sugar cube and hope you get a taste. (By Corey Taylor)