ten thousand miles

 I’m sick of life in the hobo jungle       I’ll have to concoct an escape    I’ve marshalled my resources      my charms and brittle toys       but nothing’s ever real     so I’ll keep my place       wait for my moment          you don’t need an excuse to be poor      you don’t need a uniform to fight in the war         but you need a little faith    to help you through the night     it’s a long way from cleaning windows       but it’s hardly sunny side up       I’m like you      I have lived in the odd moment     and I remember what you said      in your little voice      you said     “I think I’ve had enough, so thank you and good luck”       I didn’t require your ministrations       I expected no gratitude for mine       but I could have used your hand      these last ten thousand miles

I thought I won the war

 I have a hard time waking most mornings     I have a hard time sleeping most nights      but  I dreamed I won the war     and everything was alright    there was dancing in the streets      and I saw myself on TV     but that was sometime  yesterday      I only own today   

when I get low      I get high       they can’t take that away     what do you make of a man like me?   I got one foot on the platform     the other foot on the train      I thought I was me for a moment       but I’m somewhere back in time     I thought I won the war      but it was only in my mind      

instrumental violence

 you can’t control me now     you’re no longer in my scheme     I’m not afraid of you       you won’t hurt me again      there’s nothing you can do      nothing you can say       I’ve had enough of you    and your brutal ways     you call your aggression justice      and my resistance crime      I’ll no longer play your victim     just as I’ll never play your thug    but if you think I’ll be a bystander     then you can think again     there are forms of subtle violence      that breed conformity      I will not acquiesce to them    you won’t get that from me

northern lights

 I hear the jets tearing across the sky      they’re on their way to hell    peals of rolling thunder    the muted cries of death      I’ve had my share of sleepless nights    but I’m at home in the dark     and home is where the heart is, right?     sometimes I think about dying      I think of little else     I’ve gone transatlantic    I’ve learned to fly myself      I’m drinking what you’re drinking     neat scotch    the drink of free men      the red eye to oblivion     I ripped a hole in the night      my dreams came tumbling out

maggots

 I’m not feeling too clever today      someone shrank my knackers     and obscured my true identity     I’m out of bed    or so I think     It’s still dark outside      but it’s darker in      there’s a hole in my bucket     I’m leaking spiritual energy      but I’m rid of her    and she’s rid of me      summer died, she blamed it on me      I don’t hold that against her       we both know I have it in me      you see, it was easy to smile as I lied     easier than the taste of fear and shame     but it feeds the worm inside     and he’s a hungry maggot      the guardian of my psyche      the one who’s in control        here I am fucking, eating, grunting      I’m just rotting meat in a garbage can       maggots rule my world       my maggots have a master plan      it’s called metamorphosis       on the other side of heaven        they’ll have sprouted wings      and they’ll be planting eggs in the fertile ground       of my decomposing mind