Jukebox, Don't Lie

Jukebox don’t lie,
Music won’t die.
I’ll spin you around the world,
And cradle the cups of milky swirl.

Me: An apple based Carma,
Carma with a ‘C’, sorry not k-arma.
Artist but in name,
Existence not the same.
The top I’ll reach, but then what?
Anne rose as Queen, demised as slut;
I’ll be Anne, and I’ll be Queen,
I’ll be soft, and pure, and serene.
Buy me flowers, buy me cake,
That would impress me, for heaven’s sake
Because deep cocks and shallow chicks,
Are opposites that attract, like magnet sticks.

So if blood and tears be the secretions of humanity,
What then, would be the toils of insanity?
Inner beauty, outer beauty, oh but the excretions of vanity.
Vanity, insanity, and inhumanity, oh, bite me!
Dreams unfulfilled and milk freshly spilled,
Cry and bawl, and bring whatever will,
Or trip and tumble like naughty Jack and Jill,
But we’ll reach the end, just like the bottom of that hill
And we stop falling and clean up the mess,
And open our eyes and awake to dreams to address.

Dissatisfaction will still exist so bite me to your heart’s content,
Until I’m but blood and tears and maybe then you’ll repent,
But maybe not, because I am still not impressed,
Just because I choose not to further regress.

Hey, I have it all figured out, so let me be King.
And as King, I’ll say to Queen, “You are my darling,”
And I’ll turn around and repeat it to her sister,
Because girls can be mistresses, but boys only misters.
And an apple a day keeps the doctors away,
But Eve had one, and we have eternity to pay.

Don’t lie to me, jukebox.
Oh wait, jukeboxes can’t talk.
So what am I speaking to, and who is my crowd?
Maybe I don’t have one because my voice isn’t loud.
Does anybody hear me?
No. This city does not hear or see.

Jukebox Don’t Lie .//.01.20.09.//. Carma C.