from by Brett Gleason

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We’ll figure this out,
if no one knows you’re sick,
it’s your job to let them know.

The fever came on slow,
Explosion came before the flames,
Got thrown through the revolving door.
If you think you’re paralyzed,
it’s just the mirage,
of the broken man who broke all his bones.

Destruction, was beautiful.
Cold grays and reds blend to burn,
like the sunset.
We sink in, to invisible needs,
but my lies are so far away
and my paintings will fade someday.

I’ll sound the siren.
Wave the flag of serenity,
spit out what your eyes were too large to see.
And indulge my desire to,
steamroll right over you,
don’t need you hear to help clean up this mess.

Destruction, was bountiful,
spent the days away in a
deep & dark, deluded haze.
We sought this, bitter irreverie,
anything but feel and cope,
or deal with what is real.
Obstructions, that I put in my way,
just so long as I’ll have,
something about which to complain.

Destruction distracts,
It fills no holes in the soul you cracked.
And obstructions detract,
from cleaning up this mess you have.
The war zone’s not beauty’s home,
just turn your back and leave,
it alone.


from Brett Gleason, released May 6, 2014


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Brett Gleason New York

Piano based alt-songwriter. New album 'Manifest' out now on CD/download, T-Shirt & Poster Trio bundle available only on BandCamp.


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