Let the Silent Soul Finally Sing ~ Lyrics / Poetry ~ Mobius∆Tripz

I have carried quiet thunder
in the chapel of my chest,
buried words beneath the bruises,
laid my prayers down with the rest.

I have swallowed storms in secret,
worn a smile to hide the sting,
but there comes a holy morning
when the silent soul must sing.

Let the silent soul finally sing.
Let the broken bells begin to ring.
Let the pain that had no name
rise through fire, rise through flame.
Let the prisoner find his wings.
Let the silent soul finally sing.

I have walked through lesser evils
when the better doors were gone.
I have held what kept me breathing
just to make it to the dawn.

But the crutch that kept me standing
cannot be my chain for life.
Lord, I lay it at Your altar.
Turn my darkness into light.

Let the silent soul finally sing.
Let the broken bells begin to ring.
Let the pain that had no name
rise through fire, rise through flame.
Let the prisoner find his wings.
Let the silent soul finally sing.

I was not born to stay buried.
I was not made to disappear.
I was not called out of sorrow
just to keep on living here
like a ghost inside a body,
like a voice afraid to speak.
Now Your Spirit moves within me,
and the strong rise from the weak.

Let it sing.
Let it sing.
Let the old chains lose their meaning.
Let it sing.
Let it sing.
Let the numb heart start believing.

Let the silent soul finally sing.
Let the broken bells begin to ring.
Let the pain that had no name
rise through fire, rise through flame.
Let the prisoner find his wings.
Let the silent soul finally sing.

No more hiding in the ache.
No more sleeping through the spring.
No more death inside my breathing.

Let the silent soul
finally sing.

The Lesser Evil ~ Poetry / Lyrics ~ MobiusTripz

I did not choose the darkness

when the daylight called my name.

I chose the lesser evil
while surrounded by the flame.

Do not judge the broken traveler
by the crutch he had to hold.
Some roads are walked through winter
just to keep the soul from cold.

I was not running from Heaven.
I was crawling through the night.
I was choosing what kept me breathing
when I could not yet choose light.

But now I am delivered
from the lesser evil too.
Not because I was never wounded,
but because God pulled me through.

I did not make bad choices
when better doors were gone.
I survived the only way I could
until I could move on.

Now the chain that helped me stand
must fall away from me.
What once kept me from dying
cannot be what keeps me free.

Numb I Am No More / Choose not choose ~ Lyrics / Poetry ~ MobiusTripz

even the fan makes my body get tickling tingling shivers, as the long numed neural pathways turn back into feeling rivers

I've long been numbed in pains of every kind, praying to depart the old and leave it at my wake in death so far behind

I'm ascended now, stronger than ever, better decisions as freedom rings and these words within my body no longer a prisoner, my brain no longer a prisoner, sings

freedom awaits you but you have to first choose
infinite forever madness and chasing beast you can catch for dark gloom, or do you struggle a week and put this down and move forward empowered by The Spirit that never fails you when He you so finally choose?

Choose,
you can easily your soul lose,
if so wrong you choose,
you can fly as high as eagles and angels,
amidst surly bonds of freedom and relinquish your own chains, if your God you simply choose,
or continue to numb somber sleep til the kiss of death you lose.

even the fan makes my body get tickling shivers, as the long numed neural pathways turn back into feelings rivers

I've long been numbed in pains of every kind, praying to depart the old and leave it at my wake in death so far behind

I'm ascended now, stronger than ever, better decisions as freedom rings and these words within my body no longer a prisoner, my brain no longer a prisoner, sings

freedom awaits you but you have to first choose
infinite forever madness and chasing beast you can catch for dark gloom, or do you struggle a week and put this down and move forward empowered by The Spirit that never fails you when He you so finally choose?

Choose,
you can easily your soul lose,
if so wrong you choose,
you can fly as high as eagles and angels,
amidst surly bonds of freedom and relinquish your own chains, if your God you simply choose,
or continue to numb somber sleep til the kiss of death you lose.

freedom awaits you but you have to first choose
infinite forever madness and chasing beast you can catch for dark gloom, or do you struggle a week and put this down and move forward empowered by The Spirit that never fails you when He you so finally choose?

Choose,
you can easily your soul lose,
if so wrong you choose,
you can fly as high as eagles and angels,
amidst surly bonds of freedom and relinquish your own chains, if your God you simply choose,
or continue to numb somber sleep til the kiss of death you lose.

The Spirit that never fails you when He you so finally choose?

It's long past time, Now Choose, not choose.

The Van Is The Real Frontman ~ Poetry / Lyrics ~ Stereo Types Stereotypes

The van is the real frontman.

The van is the real frontman.
The singer rides shotgun.
The singer rides shotgun.

The wheels know the setlist.
The wheels know the setlist.
The engine knows the run.
The engine knows the run.

Chrome old prophet.
Chrome old prophet.
Rust old king.
Rust old king.

Carry the speakers.
Carry the speakers.
Carry the dream.
Carry the dream.

The van is the real frontman.
The van is the real frontman.
If it will not start,
Nobody sings.

The singer has the microphone.
The singer has the hair.
The guitarist has the pedalboard
And half the county’s air.

The drummer has the gas receipt.
The bass player has the floor.
The wizard has seventeen wires
Coming out the door.

But the van has the thunder.
The van has the scars.
The van has the smell
Of six collapsing stars.

The van has the schedule.
The van has the load.
The van has the mercy
To forgive one more road.

The van is the real frontman.
The van is the real frontman.
The singer rides shotgun.
The singer rides shotgun.

The wheels know the setlist.
The wheels know the setlist.
The engine knows the run.
The engine knows the run.

No van.
No show.
No van.
No show.

No wheels.
No go.
No wheels.
No go.

No doors.
No drums.
No seats.
No bums.

No gas.
No lights.
No ride.
No night.

The van is the real frontman.
The van is the real frontman.
If it will not start,
Nobody sings.

Jack-AL heard “real frontman”
As “wheel grunt man.”
Now the caption has a tire
With a beard and a plan.

Jack-AL heard “carry the dream”
As “marry the steam.”
Now the radiator’s engaged
To a highway queen.

No.
No.
That is not the lyric.
That is not the truth.

But the van is already coughing
Like it heard its youth.

The van is the real frontman.
The van is the real frontman.
The singer rides shotgun.
The singer rides shotgun.

The wheels know the setlist.
The wheels know the setlist.
The engine knows the run.
The engine knows the run.

It knows every pothole.
It knows every toll.
It knows every drummer
Who paid with his soul.

It knows every singer
Who said, “I’ll be quick.”
It knows every guitarist
Who brought one more stick.

It knows every keyboard
That would not fit right.
It knows every bass amp
That slept there all night.

It knows every side door,
Every alley, every bar.
It knows every argument
About who rode too far.

The van is the real frontman.
The van is the real frontman.
If it will not start,
Nobody sings.

Chrome old prophet.
Rust old king.
Carry the speakers.
Carry the dream.

Chrome old prophet.
Rust old king.
Carry the cables.
Carry the scene.

The singer says, “The crowd loves me.”
The van says, “I got you here.”
The guitarist says, “My tone is sick.”
The van says, “So is my rear.”

The drummer says, “We need oil.”
The singer says, “After the show.”
The van says, “That was yesterday.”
The drummer says, “I know.”

The bass player sits quiet
By the emergency jack.
The wizard guards a keyboard
That is digging in his back.

The side door saint is wedged
Between merch and destiny.
The sound guy stares out the window
Judging all of history.

The van is the real frontman.
The van is the real frontman.
The singer rides shotgun.
The singer rides shotgun.

The wheels know the setlist.
The wheels know the setlist.
The engine knows the run.
The engine knows the run.

No van.
No show.
No van.
No show.

No van.
No show.
Everybody knows.

No van.
No show.
No van.
No show.

If the van says no,
The whole night goes.

It has duct tape on the mirror.
It has prayers in the dash.
It has old french fries fossilized
Beside emergency cash.

It has one door that opens.
It has one door that lies.
It has a heater from the underworld
And questionable ties.

It has a smell like thunder.
It has a cough like truth.
It has a bumper sticker ghost
From someone else’s youth.

It has carpet from another life.
It has stains with names.
It has heard more bad decisions
Than the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

The van is the real frontman.
The van is the real frontman.
If it will not start,
Nobody sings.

Chrome old prophet.
Rust old king.
Carry the speakers.
Carry the dream.

The singer takes the picture.
The van carries the frame.
The guitarist takes the solo.
The van carries the shame.

The drummer takes the blame.
The van carries the proof.
The bass player takes the low road.
The van carries the roof.

The wizard takes the portal.
The van carries the smoke.
Jack-AL takes the wrong words.
The van carries the joke.

The van is the real frontman.
The van is the real frontman.
The singer rides shotgun.
The singer rides shotgun.

The wheels know the setlist.
The wheels know the setlist.
The engine knows the run.
The engine knows the run.

One.
Two.
Turn the key.

Three.
Four.
Pray with me.

Five.
Six.
Cough and shake.

Seven.
Eight.
Not today.

Nine.
Ten.
Try again.

Everybody push.
Everybody bend.

One.
Two.
Turn the key.

Three.
Four.
Mercy please.

Five.
Six.
Engine screams.

Seven.
Eight.
Still got dreams.

The van is the real frontman.
The van is the real frontman.
If it will not start,
Nobody sings.

The van is the real frontman.
The van is the real frontman.
If it coughs once,
The whole band clings.

No van.
No show.
No van.
No show.

No van.
No show.
Everybody knows.

Chrome old prophet.
Rust old king.
Carry the speakers.
Carry the dream.

The van is the real frontman.
The van is the real frontman.
The singer rides shotgun.
But the van runs the thing.

One More Time For The People In Jersey ~ Poetry / Lyrics ~ Stereo Types Stereotypes

One more time for the people in Jersey.

One more time for the people in Jersey.
They missed the chorus,
So we’ll hit it early.

One more time for the people in Jersey.
One more time for the people in Jersey.
Turn it up,
But not enough to hurt me.

Receipts in pocket.
Receipts in pocket.
Chili on the sleeve.
Chili on the sleeve.

Van in the shop.
Van in the shop.
Still gotta leave.
Still gotta leave.

Cash App home.
Cash App home.
Venmo road.
Venmo road.

Tow truck mercy.
Tow truck mercy.
Carry the load.
Carry the load.

One more time.
One more time.
For the ones not here yet.
For the ones not here yet.

One more time.
One more time.
For the ones
We will not forget.

The singer says,
“Are they listening?”
The drummer says,
“Not yet.”

The guitarist says,
“I’ll solo louder.”
The bass player says,
“Safe bet.”

The wizard bends the night air.
The side door saint grins.
The sound guy says,
“Start over then.”

One more time for the people in Jersey.
One more time for the people in Jersey.
They missed the chorus,
So we’ll hit it early.

Jack-AL heard
“people in Jersey”
As “seagull emergency”
And made the room thirsty.

Seagull emergency.
Seagull emergency.
Now the boardwalk’s screaming
With punk urgency.

No.
No.
That is not the line.
But the crowd is flying
For the second time.

One more time for the people in Jersey.
One more time for the people in Jersey.
Turn it up,
But not enough to hurt me.

No van.
No show.
Still we go.
Still we go.

No cash.
No plan.
Still the band.
Still the band.

No perfect take.
No perfect night.
One more joke.
One more light.

One more time.
One more time.
For the ones not here yet.
For the ones not here yet.

One more time.
One more time.
For the ones
We will not forget.

They missed the joke.
They missed the band.
They missed the van
And the broken stand.

They missed the shirt.
They missed the fight.
They missed the sound guy
Saving the night.

They missed Jack-AL.
They missed the wrong.
They missed the moment
The wrong became song.

So play it again.
Play it again.
Same old joke
With a brand-new grin.

Say it again.
Say it again.
Wrong words riding
On a road-worn hymn.

One more time for the people in Jersey.
One more time for the people in Jersey.
They missed the chorus,
So we’ll hit it early.

One more time for the ones not here yet.
One more time for the ones not here yet.
They missed the first round,
But the song ain’t done yet.

Cash App home.
Venmo road.
Tow truck mercy.
Carry the load.

Receipts in pocket.
Chili on the sleeve.
Van in the shop.
Still gotta leave.

One more time.
One more time.
For the joke.
For the pattern.

One more time.
One more time.
For the people.
For the road.

One more time for the people in Jersey.
One more time for the people in Jersey.
Turn it up,
But not enough to hurt me.

One more time.
One more time.
The song ain’t over.
The van still rolls.