The Fuel to Fire and The Metal Brush
by Dave

THE FUEL TO FIRE

Here upon this darkest night,
the moon shines high, my heart full of fright.
The night is like no other before,
my mind is with me nevermore.
Soft music plays it keeps me in my cage,
Now plays the metal, I am filled with rage.

It fuels the fire within my heart,
I join mindlessly and see the moshing start.
I find her now, we meet and kiss,
life just doesn't get better then this.
She fuels the fire within my heart,
I think love has begun to start.

She knocked on the door to my cage,
what she said next filled me with rage.
She said I loved her like no ther before,
"sorry my dear I love thee nevermore."
I sit alone on this darkest night,
my heart is broken and filled with fright.

THE METAL BRUSH

On a clear spring day,
Sitting on a park bench over looking the bay.
In total silence, in tranquil peace,
I sit alone, feeding the geese.
The children run and play around,
I sit back and listen to their blissful sound.
A little old woman takes the vacant space,
She is winded from keeping her pace.
She seems so miserable, like her time has come,
And yet so happy under the warming sun.
I smiled with a "nice day today."
And her "I love it here, over looking the bay."
What came next I donít know why I did,
The knife to her throat and in it slide.
With a curious wonder I watched her die,
In her final moment she began to cry.
Her life washed away in a river of red,
I thanked her with a tear but her reply was dead.
I wiped my brush on her newly red blouse,
And continued my walk back to my house.
Not till I was far did someone see her there,
Everyone looked for me, finally someone cared.
In a giant crowd no one saw me there,
Iím just one of those people you can pass with never a second care.
Now at a distance I watched the medics rush,
While I stood there still clutching my metal brush.
This is my art and I love it so,
A true expression of joy and woe.
It is my art but I donít know why,
This happiness makes me cry.
After thirty painting and none of them bought,
Strangely I have no fear of ever being caught.
I sit with my tears and wonder about my cause,
And it always strikes me with a silent pause.
I have no reason but inspiration,
It is my cause, it is my liberation.
I ignore my pain and think on my art,
Soon it will be again time to start.
Maybe soon I will be found and the world my know,
Why my happiness had to be their woe.
But for now there is no rush,
Iíll just sit here with my metal brush.


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