Just trying to take                                        a stab
                                                  at tunneling into
                                                      or funneling through
                                                                             the fifty thousand
                                                          fumbling thoughts bumbling
                                                 cluelessly in the confines
                                                                                               of my mind
                                                                           and breaking through to take out a thing
                                                                                               or two of what I find
                                                                                               leaves me in a bind.

          Because I try,
                              but suddenly…
                                                                Synapse!

                  I’m saying something entirely              separate
                      from what I was saying
                             a second or so
                                                        ago.

                                   Synapse!

                             And throw up your arms in joy
                                                                        for God is Love!
       God is love, people.
              Have I said enough, people?
                  He doesn’t reign from above, people
                                          flying high like an eagle
                                               at the top of some steeple.

                            He lives                    inside                  of our hearts
                                             and breaks all of our faked
                                                                                    emotions apart.

                         I’ve said it at least
                                seven hundred times
                                            and there isn’t a thing
                                             that’s going to spring
                             and convince me to lie.

                                                                  God is Love.

                                         Synapse!

And what the fuck is Love supposed to be anyways?
                         A gut wrenching thrill or some slut-slippery haze?
       Could it be a kind of confusing cold
                     that makes all of our movements
                                                                          much more bold?
                  Or is it more closely tuned to two temperamental teenagers
                                                                       attempting to hold?

Does love really defy words?
                          Deny all that which might be heard?
                                  Or is it more similar to something vague
                                                                though not unfeeling, that
                                                        sips our souls, and springs us, singing,
                                            through the ceiling.

                                                                          Synapse!

And,
though I
probably do
not define it I
will not fail to try
to climb it. I’m speaking
of course, of that wild horse, love.
for, though my lover lives in a faraway land
I really love her (even though I’ve never held her hand)

                                                                                       Synapse!

           For, by no way am I bound the lusty hound
                                              that needs to touch.
           I don’t need anything at all
                                       to love anyone this much.  
           In fact, you see, I’m completely disgusted
                       by our complete trust in physicality.

                                                                  It’s a disgrace!
                          The real role-models of  the human race
                                     shouldn’t be ranked        (like rickety rats)
                             up and down these ridiculous runways.

           We’re in a haze,
       Though, by no way is it a haze of love.  
                                        We’ve tripped up and spit down
       And now, are crying frowns from above.
         With our beer, we raucously jeer
                             “Smaller women! Bigger breasts!
                         Make every single one pass our test!”

                                 Synapse!

                    And despite what you may think of fashion or style,
        You still cannot hate a pedophile
Who would never touch a child.

                      Synapse!
                                Oh snap!
                                    I think I just let loose my spirit.
                          Someone‘s got to be somewhere near it.
                                                 Can anyone here hear it?
                        No. I’m afraid you cannot.
                          Because, and this is sad, you all fear it.

                                                                                 Synapse!

                                   You know, politics never really rhymed with holocaust.
                                    but could they be anywhere close in their human cost?
                                                ‘cause some sermons state
                                                   that George Bush has us all under his boot.

                                           Synapse!

                                           Am I the only one here who thinks
                                                    that speech impediments are kind of cute?

Synapse!

              I found her grounded
                        stuttering and sputtering in the gutters of deep outer space
                        so I took the time to teach her the tango of the human race.
    Then, when time wrenchers and money pinchers chanced upon my face
                                  I wondered why my mother said that I’m a disgrace.

                              And since then, she‘s become so much more than just some girl
                                                            she’s got me caught in an age-leaping whirl
                                                                 Of every emotion she could possibly hurl.

                         She elevates my soul in its shallow-lunged seat
       raises the woe hurling frequency in my toe curling feet,
and perhaps most of all, she makes my heart beat.

                                                                 Synapse!
                                                  Collapse!

         Sometimes I feel like I’ve Collapsed.
                                                                 Collapsed into the traps of the
                                                                                              synaptic thoughts.
                                                                                 All this syntactic bullshit
                                                                                    my self-seeking bought.
                                                                                             There’s a lot to be written
                                                  and still some things left to understand
                                                     but I’ve filled them with ideals
                                                            In a concrete and unfeeling land.

                                                     Synapse!

                       And, most of the time,
                                           my rhymes find me wondering
                                                        why we're plundering ourselves
                                                                     by plunging into
                                                grungy politics of doctor Seuss.
                                                      What, with half our states picking red
                                                           And the other half blue?
                                                                        I wonder if we’ll be dead
                                                 before we unearth some truths!

                   And the truth is,
                                      We’ve become infused.
If we can’t pick one side, everyone will lose!
                                                                     I mean

Right
                wing
Left
                wing
Jesus,
                  Christ
People,
                  I feel like
I'm on some kind of bird!

             an albatross
with its wings unfolded
              uncrossed.
and ultimately
                the two ends
                are wistful, distant
                                  and no one
                knows no one
                on the far, far, far other side.



                                                                                    of course anyone
                                                                                                     who might happen to listen          to       this
                                                                                                                                                              might     happen
                                                  to tune in and maybe even                                                                      care   is simply      
                                                                                             nonexistant so all that you blank people  
                                                                                        can do is stare



                but just in case, I’ve decided
                I will press on
                           for the person
                that probably does not
                even enter entity
I’ll remind that visionary
                           that left
wing right wing really

      should not matter, for
when it comes down
to a matter
                 of  Left
or Right
                 we've got to
find the
                mixture
we've got
               to find

Light!

Synapse!

I can see the whites of all your eyes!
                         What are you staring for?
                             You want a couple more rhymes?
                Well too bad,
                        I’m too mad
                                and I just haven’t got the time.
          Besides, there’s not a thing I could sing
                 that you would agree to
                 that you could let seep through.
                           There’s no point.
You’re all sitting here blank
        As canvas while not one of us has got
           a single drop of paint!

                                                             Synapse!

                                                                               Or maybe I’m wrong.
                                           Maybe, at least, one of your souls isn’t
                                                                          too stuck up to be strong.
                            Maybe you have a painter
                                          And you faint at her portrayals.
           Maybe you’ve read pages
      that send you through crazes.
                 One of you may
                                          still have more than ideals.
              Maybe one of you, (or maybe more)
                                                         maybe still feels.

                             I just…
                             I just don’t know!
                                                   Its just too hard to say.
                              This billowing bucket of bullshit
                                      We call ‘life’ doesn’t do too much
                                                                             to keep my cynicism away!

                                           Synapse!

But…                      I suppose in the end.
                                  After the last synaptic and syntactic bend
                                        I’d have to say that, Yah.
                                        we’re all worth something.
                                             From birth to last love,
                                                              we all grow, and grow.
                                                   and from each and every soul
                                                  there’s still a lot more to know.

                           So, If I could keep one store-bought thought
                                                         for more than five seconds
                              I’d probably say that before you leap from this world,
                                                               before you leave, your spirit finally unfurled.
                   While you wait for that one inevitable collapse.
Just think as much as you can,
                                            And just don’t stop,
                                                                        just
                                                                                                                               Synapse!