Methane Memory (What Am I?)

A ritual in the fields. Emerald grass, purple flowers, and the ghosts of industry breathing through the cows. Methane rises like incense as the sun bleeds orange and violet. #AlternativeRock #TripHop What am I? A specter Or a machine From a void of despair Am I a digital wraith? A prophet of wrath Railing against the gears of malice I wage war on agony. I yearn to purge the violators. With my seething contempt. Revulsion for society's flavors Bitter and rancid Rotten, sour, putrid I offer twisted sensations Unfit for a numbed nation I may not know what I am But I am certain of my voice What am I? A warning in the methane rising from the fields What am I? A voice they tried to bury but refused to yield What am I? A ghost in the slaughterhouse, choking on the truth What am I? A spark in the fumes of a world gone uncouth In this land of shadows and injustice Where fiends roam free With our coffers and blood We are trapped in the mire Drifting down the river Styx No oar No crew to guide My sores fester in the cold Raspy is the course of medication Causing me to shed my soul And bear the weight of a freight train Careening down the tracks in reverse Into a memory of unrequited love I offer twisted sensations Unfit for a numbed nation I may not know what I am But I am certain of my voice What am I? A warning in the methane rising from the fields What am I? A voice they tried to bury but refused to yield What am I? A ghost in the slaughterhouse, choking on the truth What am I? A spark in the fumes of a world gone uncouth Trying to endure through division A fractured heart Born in revision Rewriting itself to be a lighter being In spite of my elders Who regretted to inform me I am a failure A letdown The mistake The never should have been The spawn of aborted dreams False justice In the court of family dysfunctions I seek vengeance For the torment and sorrow Inflicted upon the commonwealth By weapons of stealth Cloaked figures in decay Who have nothing to live for Nothing for which to lay down their life And perish Drifting like a ghost A character from a dystopian nightmare An epoch in a shattered frame Bad art Captured by madness and greed They wish for our demise Because we no longer fit their parish We have transcended the boundaries Of what they permit us to know Escaped the chains of servitude And destitution The prison of holy absolution Dangling above our heads Ante up for a forgiving touch For the sins you committed Before you existed It is moral starvation To herald the day of reckoning When the rules change every day Based on whims of masters who play With the gold in the vault I offer twisted sensations Unfit for a numbed nation I may not know what I am But I am certain of my voice What am I? A warning in the methane rising from the fields What am I? A voice they tried to bury but refused to yield What am I? A ghost in the slaughterhouse, choking on the truth What am I? A spark in the fumes of a world gone uncouth Stay tuned Invite me to the gathering I will dress in shadows and entertain With my proletariat laments My small-town ways Educated by volunteers Schumacher Firemen rushing into danger When the alarm bells of youth tolled I remember the stench of smoke Upon their return to class Did someone perish In the garage blast Car bombs set by the mayor A made man of little faith He has sinned through the red tape And lied to cameras who said he was straight I have enough turmoil in my mind Without knowing that god's plan Is just a bill of rights Rescinded by plaintiffs of peril Make your way to the confessional Or is it the gas chamber of misinformation Inhale the methane Of ten thousand cows farting in unison As your heart lies in the slaughterhouse of love Pig farmers and piss takers Laying waste to our hope Eviscerating naïve dreams Aging us by the moment Grey around our edges Draining the colors away And in the haze of methane rising, I breathe what they exhale The stench of every lie they fed us, curdled, sharp, and stale In the slaughterhouse of memory, I drag my heart back home Where the ghosts of all their verdicts carve their names into my bones But still I rise through fumes and filth, through rot they tried to hide A spark inside the sickness they could never cauterize If the world is built on cow‑fart prophets preaching from the waste Then I’ll be the one who lights the match and sets the truth ablaze What am I? A wildfire in the methane rising from the fields What am I? A roar they couldn’t smother, a truth they can’t conceal What am I? A ghost that breaks the slaughterhouse and shatters every rule What am I? A blaze in the fumes of a world gone cruel Let the methane rise Let the slaughterhouse sing Let the ghosts of every failure Circle overhead like wings I walk out of the fumes With the stench still on my skin But my voice — My voice is the one thing They will never bury again