Maybe you were never ready
to carry a weight that’s so heavy.
If you can’t set the course,
you’re going to need to follow.
You can bring water to a horse
but you can’t make it swallow.

You have to put your foot down
to ever take a step forward.
From the city back to town,
from space bound to homeward.

But she’s a Medusa with a mirror,
frozen inlove with her own reflection.
You scream your lungs out but even near her,
you’re always ignored;under detection.

Maybe you were never prepared
to share a burden that should never be shared.
It’s been a few years; it’s been some time
since you lodged your last complaint.
I’d like to believe you’re now doing fine,
and you’d like to believe you’re just a saint.

You have to put your foot down
to ever take a step forward.
Follow the air bubbles to not drown
don’t turn a drama into a horror.

But she’s a Medusa with a mirror,
frozen inlove with her own reflection.
If she can’t move will you still fear her,
and her manipulation and deflection?

I sometimes forget Medusa was victim to a curse,
and I never tried to make it better but I sure as hell made it worse.
Maybe Athena could’ve been more forgiving and kind,
she didn’t have to leave her living, or she could’ve made her blind.
She could’ve plugged her ears
so she wouldn’t have to hear the screams
of the men who holds fears
of a woman who dreams.
She could’ve ripped off her nose
or just taken her voice,
sometimes that the way it goes
you just don’t get a choice.

But she’s a Medusa with a mirror,
frozen inlove with her own reflection.
Even if she could scream no one would hear her,
and long ago got used to the rejection.

The devil is sitting at a table
make sure to provide top service,
and if you are somehow able,
hide that his aggression makes you nervous.
When the White House is just a smidge too white,
it might be time for us Canucks to pull a 1814.
How can someone do absolutely nothing right?
and think what will be a nightmare will help revive an American dream?

The devil is sitting at the desk,
and he’s got yes men to shine and kiss his shoes.
It was finally time for him to fail a test
but his misguided cultists refused to let him lose.
When the White House is just a smidge too white,
even if the occupant is known to be orange.
He’s shutting the gates just too tight,
rushing Capitol instead of tearing his door hinge.

The devil is sitting at a table
he’s got the finest cutlery set,
and the legs of it aren’t stable
with each wobble he places his next bet.
When the White House is just a smidge too white,
I think it needs to be stripped and gain a new coat.
Why is a symbol of oppression dressed up so bright,
when it’s walls protect one and strangle every other throat?

He “did everything right” and they indicted him;
and now we fight eachother when we should be fighting him.
These people have forgot how the world turns,
infact they believe it’s stationery and around them.
So they anticipate heat when they make the world burn,
and await a rose after they rooted and snapped each stem.

Isn’t it absolutely insane
how the free can unknowingly live in a prison?
Didn’t anyone tell you even a Hurricane
can’t cleanse American Capitalism?

Your clear crystalline perfect sea
 touches and mix with my cloudy waves and sand.
They don’t crash together with speed or violently;
slowly fit together; lacing fingers together on each hand.

You’re wearing rings of rose gold
those around my eyes are black and blue.
Both sets of them are not so old,
but they’re also certainly not very new.

Counting the weaving constellations,
counting the bright and endless stars.
I made the story just an abbreviation;
just like my cuts birthed from my scars.

You’re wearing rings of rose gold
those around my eyes are black and blue.
The weather’s been awfully cold,
but your warmth has got through.

You’re wearing rings of rose gold
those around my eyes are black and blue.
Though this may come off as too bold
but I’ve always been inlove with you.

So feed my body to the fishes,
but make sure to keep my heart around.
Like a genie it could grant your wishes
but you’ll have to endure the sound.
Put it underneath the floorboards
just like in the Tell-tale Heart,
and set a timer for how long you can ignore
the lasting pounding once it begins to start.
I’m sure it’ll drive you mad,
I’d bet whatever’s left of me,
and would it even be so bad
to add another drop of water to the sea?

My back is aching from being bent
kneeling down to write our names in wet cement.
It’ll be there for eternity, decorating the houses both bought and rent.
Too bad I slipped and messed up the hand prints; what counts is the sentiment.

I should’ve been looking both ways
before I crossed every single street.
Regardless I trip, I tumble, and I sway
I think the problem’s within my feet.

I’m tied to you like a boat on the sea
to it’s dock; bobbing up and down endlessly.
Pushed towards you from the waves crashing,
like the boat; doomed if I’m ever cut free.

I’m burdened by games of black and white
and your determined to find a shade of grey.
We could find a way to win if we could place our pieces right
but everytime there’s a loss the board get tossed and thrown away.

I was walking down the city streets
making choices like Meryl Streep,
trying to hide a weakness to showcase a feat,
or maybe just choosing direction; actually not deep.
I was trying hard to just fill some seats
almost like I had some promise to keep,
handing out both set lists and call sheets
looking for any opportunity to sow so I could reap.

You’ve got 99 problems but your loyalty is one,
you’ll never solve them now the World Cup is done.
Achieved by your colours that aren’t so true,
by a Nation that once treasured you.
Gretzky I believe your reign is through.

You used to shoot and inevitably you’d score,
imagine the disappointment of each Gord.
Keep the red and white but add the blue,
betray a Nation that once treasured you.
Gretzky; no longer number one not even two.

Keep your guns and keep your hate,
Canada’s not your fifty-first state.
We’ve always been a Country, one that’s great.

Went to a room and ignored the sign,
now we’ve changed the labels and removed your wine.
Disappointed in what you would do,
to a National that once treasured you.
The sadness and anger only grew.

An apology that will come too late,
Canada will never be your fifty-first state.
Not up for discussion or debate.

A concept you should understand,
you can’t put a “for sale” sign on our land.
The death of a legend came from the hands
of a bad man and a bad plan.
No longer the greatest of all time
after you’ve committed the greatest of crimes.

We won’t take the tariffs or the bait,
Canada will never be your fifty first state.
We’ll cement the actions and the date.

So stay in exile as is it your fate,
Canada won’t be your fifty first state,
cause it’s the one, the one that’s great.

My dad spent most of his life
singing songs wishing to be a rockstar.
“Can’t get no satisfaction” and “Mack the knife”
a handful of applause from drunks in a dark bar.

The sights I hated to see
now the person I don’t wish to be,
my potential could be monumental
if I could just turn dreams to reality.
The days of a wasted youth
ignoring a tragic truth,
I could make history by solving a mystery
if I could only find the proof.

My mom’s favourite song was “Fast Car”
but at the funeral, I picked Fleetwood’s “Landslide.”
There was no point in highlighting an old scar,
some times and places, there’s just things you should hide.

The sights I hated to see
can’t be wiped from my memory,
and what I fear the most is that there’s no ghost
that has been haunting me.
Now I get the appeal of the drink
from the cabinet or underneath the sink,
without warning, about ten in the morning
it was worse than you could ever hope or think.

My feet pushed against the white floor board
and my back leaned up against the bed.
Thinking about how the surface was scored,
the colours mix; white, orange blue and red.
In the basement with my precious; my hoard,
with the knowledge no one would know if I were dead.
Suddenly it was a thought that I explored
that maybe I enjoyed that course instead.
And to the heights I once soared,
please tell me the best days are still ahead.

Another sunrise and sunset,
another pair of eyes filled with regret.
Who’s waiting for hope and luck to arrive at their front door,
but even if it came who’s to say they wouldn’t still expect more?
And would we even cast any blame,
if you’re angry that tomorrow came?

Time is cruel and time is no friend;
half were in school; the rest trying to meet an end.
As a sun will set a newborn life will fade,
with moments you can’t forget
and one’s you would never trade.
It’s hard not to feel the same;
to be angry that tomorrow came.

He said take a note and give me five
“no one gets out of here alive.”
Who do you want to be for the rest of your life?
“Just a reminder, you don’t live twice.”
They tell me to grin my teeth and bear it
soft demeanor but eyes like a knife.
It’s clear they don’t want me to share it;
my collection of troubles and strife.
They’ve got closed eyes and plugged ears,
talking over each word I try to speak.
While it all feels like endless years,
in truth it’s only been one week.
And the reality of it is actually quite tame
but still you get angry that tomorrow came.

It’s a hazy afternoon with the sun in the sky
and I’m standing in the gloom of someone else’s goodbye.
And I could paint a thousand pictures
and never get the landscape quite right,
just like adjusting and fixing the fixtures
but never obtaining the perfect light.
It seems so insanely mundane,
but I’m trying to not be angry, that tomorrow came.

You can’t cleanse the bad from the good
there will always be residue permanently,
and it’s not so simple to gain some wood
you’re always going to have to cut down a tree, eventually.
Make sure the earth will burn, with an untamed flame
The world continues to turn, regretful that tomorrow came.