Howard Palmer/ Shamebait

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Howard Palmer/ Shamebait

Some are waiting for the one called Kismet. Never- ending confusion, cataclysmic. Standing room only in the house of the lonely. Solely lost are the spirits who missed it.
Hip side for the ride around the dram shop. Atop a high bitter tidings of the ale hops. All there were accounted, making light of what sounded like a moral that was never forgotten.
So as it went, Sad Clown sat anonymous, with the smirk of a childish optimist. Engaging flesh with a task, if they knew how to ask. But as for love, understanding was posthumous.
He choked feelings with disappointment, and mourned the death of his old friend passion. It was the way he designed it in his mind, to find it within his own self satisfaction.
But none the less he gave his best of what they wanted. Curiosity and chase would be forgotten. By the hedonist flare, ensnare and not care. Disenchanted by all of what they flaunted.

Sad Clown

These lines reside in the hearts and the minds of the fools and the conquered man.
The world flows slower when the mind rolls over, from the tutelage of affairs.
As trust spits blood in the face of love, she proves power above the fray.
But out here in the wild, we're tortured and defiled by soliloquy of betrayal.

Embrace, embrace,
Embrace by the common hand.
Lay waste to the idea that we all matter in the fraction of a
relevant sum.

It flows so well with the gift to tell, instilled in the will of hierarchy. Tall tale impel the tried and true, in lieu of the faintest possibility.
Our sins won't matter and our souls won't shatter, when we feel ourselves fall from grace.
You're here, you're right here. So ample praise for another day.

Embrace, embrace,
Embrace by the common hand.
Lay waste to the idea that we all matter in the fraction of a relevant sum.

The Nerve of Relevance

Seven clouds and seven spells, stir the chaos gently.
Purging by splendor, only to find no lines connecting.
For you this time the crooked view, the trance of condescending.
What came to be is what came to be, as twilight shaped beside me.

Listen, can you hear yourself?

Simple, clever worth dismember, somewhat tantalizing.
Brush against benevolence by way of patronizing.
Thirteen clouds and severed moods, all served with suited liking.
Feasting on what couldn't be, always appetizing.

Listen, can't you hear yourself?

Listen


Latest Uploads

Some are waiting for the one called Kismet. Never- ending confusion, cataclysmic. Standing room only in the house of the lonely. Solely lost are the spirits who missed it.
Hip side for the ride around the dram shop. Atop a high bitter tidings of the ale hops. All there were accounted, making light of what sounded like a moral that was never forgotten.
So as it went, Sad Clown sat anonymous, with the smirk of a childish optimist. Engaging flesh with a task, if they knew how to ask. But as for love, understanding was posthumous.
He choked feelings with disappointment, and mourned the death of his old friend passion. It was the way he designed it in his mind, to find it within his own self satisfaction.
But none the less he gave his best of what they wanted. Curiosity and chase would be forgotten. By the hedonist flare, ensnare and not care. Disenchanted by all of what they flaunted.

Sad Clown

These lines reside in the hearts and the minds of the fools and the conquered man.
The world flows slower when the mind rolls over, from the tutelage of affairs.
As trust spits blood in the face of love, she proves power above the fray.
But out here in the wild, we're tortured and defiled by soliloquy of betrayal.

Embrace, embrace,
Embrace by the common hand.
Lay waste to the idea that we all matter in the fraction of a
relevant sum.

It flows so well with the gift to tell, instilled in the will of hierarchy. Tall tale impel the tried and true, in lieu of the faintest possibility.
Our sins won't matter and our souls won't shatter, when we feel ourselves fall from grace.
You're here, you're right here. So ample praise for another day.

Embrace, embrace,
Embrace by the common hand.
Lay waste to the idea that we all matter in the fraction of a relevant sum.

The Nerve of Relevance

Seven clouds and seven spells, stir the chaos gently.
Purging by splendor, only to find no lines connecting.
For you this time the crooked view, the trance of condescending.
What came to be is what came to be, as twilight shaped beside me.

Listen, can you hear yourself?

Simple, clever worth dismember, somewhat tantalizing.
Brush against benevolence by way of patronizing.
Thirteen clouds and severed moods, all served with suited liking.
Feasting on what couldn't be, always appetizing.

Listen, can't you hear yourself?

Listen

Calamity Jaede I wish I had paid more attention to how you really mean it.
Perception is timing or a muse for the rhyming, to convince you that I believed it.
Avoiding desire, fear of the fire that burns hotter and so much deeper.
A routine of deserving what you get for returning.
Dysfunction is so much cheaper... so much cheaper
Calamity Jaede reasons were made, mired down with dissolution.
Ideas of action are the attraction and fill desire for absolution.
Avoiding desire, ebb, flow, admire those moments in times we need them.
It's a game well played, but my patience has weighed
less the very same time that we fleeted… times we fleeted.
I made my peace, I slipped away more times than I care to think of.
Calamity Jaede , you pushed and you played,
you convinced me that I don’t need it… I don’t need it.
Calamity Jaede I wish I had paid more attention to how you really mean it.
Perception is timing or a muse for the rhyming, to convince you that I believed it.
The challenge, the lesson, to learn by guessing. Chalk it up to a good god-damn shame.
The challenge, the lesson, to learn by guessing. Chalk it up to a good god-damn shame… it’s a god-damn shame.

Calamity Jaede

My Uploads

Some are waiting for the one called Kismet. Never- ending confusion, cataclysmic. Standing room only in the house of the lonely. Solely lost are the spirits who missed it.
Hip side for the ride around the dram shop. Atop a high bitter tidings of the ale hops. All there were accounted, making light of what sounded like a moral that was never forgotten.
So as it went, Sad Clown sat anonymous, with the smirk of a childish optimist. Engaging flesh with a task, if they knew how to ask. But as for love, understanding was posthumous.
He choked feelings with disappointment, and mourned the death of his old friend passion. It was the way he designed it in his mind, to find it within his own self satisfaction.
But none the less he gave his best of what they wanted. Curiosity and chase would be forgotten. By the hedonist flare, ensnare and not care. Disenchanted by all of what they flaunted.

Sad Clown

These lines reside in the hearts and the minds of the fools and the conquered man.
The world flows slower when the mind rolls over, from the tutelage of affairs.
As trust spits blood in the face of love, she proves power above the fray.
But out here in the wild, we're tortured and defiled by soliloquy of betrayal.

Embrace, embrace,
Embrace by the common hand.
Lay waste to the idea that we all matter in the fraction of a
relevant sum.

It flows so well with the gift to tell, instilled in the will of hierarchy. Tall tale impel the tried and true, in lieu of the faintest possibility.
Our sins won't matter and our souls won't shatter, when we feel ourselves fall from grace.
You're here, you're right here. So ample praise for another day.

Embrace, embrace,
Embrace by the common hand.
Lay waste to the idea that we all matter in the fraction of a relevant sum.

The Nerve of Relevance

Seven clouds and seven spells, stir the chaos gently.
Purging by splendor, only to find no lines connecting.
For you this time the crooked view, the trance of condescending.
What came to be is what came to be, as twilight shaped beside me.

Listen, can you hear yourself?

Simple, clever worth dismember, somewhat tantalizing.
Brush against benevolence by way of patronizing.
Thirteen clouds and severed moods, all served with suited liking.
Feasting on what couldn't be, always appetizing.

Listen, can't you hear yourself?

Listen

Calamity Jaede I wish I had paid more attention to how you really mean it.
Perception is timing or a muse for the rhyming, to convince you that I believed it.
Avoiding desire, fear of the fire that burns hotter and so much deeper.
A routine of deserving what you get for returning.
Dysfunction is so much cheaper... so much cheaper
Calamity Jaede reasons were made, mired down with dissolution.
Ideas of action are the attraction and fill desire for absolution.
Avoiding desire, ebb, flow, admire those moments in times we need them.
It's a game well played, but my patience has weighed
less the very same time that we fleeted… times we fleeted.
I made my peace, I slipped away more times than I care to think of.
Calamity Jaede , you pushed and you played,
you convinced me that I don’t need it… I don’t need it.
Calamity Jaede I wish I had paid more attention to how you really mean it.
Perception is timing or a muse for the rhyming, to convince you that I believed it.
The challenge, the lesson, to learn by guessing. Chalk it up to a good god-damn shame.
The challenge, the lesson, to learn by guessing. Chalk it up to a good god-damn shame… it’s a god-damn shame.

Calamity Jaede


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