Preacher

Raptures come and raptures go
Their Armageddons to and fro
Against the tide and from the east
Be it man or be it beast

Fits of rage, come cleanse me now
Lay waste to my sacred cow
I'll have no further sabbath, if you please
The day is hot and all too long
For silent prayer or bellowed song
And so I'll wait no further on my knees

God was never in this house, though he waits outside the door
It's not that he's not welcome, merely that he knows the score
He knows me and I know him, so abandon your "Ain Elohim"
And accept the world for what it is, a spiral towards the end

Bloody stumps of praying knees
Are all that're left of my beliefs
This season of the endless heat
Has left me as no more than breathing meat

Blistered tounges speak up as snakes
And in each word lie coiled in wait
To strike with deadly venom at each phrase
So here I'm left with handlers gloves
To tame these serpent saints with love
And then forever lay within their grace

God was never in this house, though he waits outside the door
It's not that he's not welcome, merely that he knows the score
He knows me and I know him, so abandon your "Ain Elohim"
And accept the world for what it is, a spiral towards the end

Let this reaping season end before another one begins
And then cast all four away with every hour of every day
Their poison seeps and pools to let us bathe

There's no one left to take the blame
There's no one left to play the game
There's only heat and rot to come
So lets enjoy the damage done

God was never in this house, though he waits outside the door
It's not that he's not welcome, merely that he knows the score
He knows me and I know him, so abandon your "Ain Elohim"
And accept the world for what it is, a spiral towards the end

8/23/07

Art of a Conquered People (2/19/07)

The words of the dissident, resonant, furious
The thought of a child, explorative, curious
The heart of a father that beats in the son
The treaty and handshake in place of the gun

Say goodbye to the age of reason
Welcome my friend, to the eon of treason
Where man has no soul, no brain and no heart
Where death is the closest we're coming to art
The screams of the tortured, music to our ears
The loss of our weapons, the worst of our fears
Gun to the head over warm in your bed
This is the place where the living are dead

All good we once had is now buried and gone
And only the worst of our fathers lives on
In the wake of the rise of the blind and the feeble
I live by the art of a conquered people

The last shreds of dignity, few and dissolving
The pieces of puzzles, now never revolving
The ages of angels of God and of grace
The age of ability to look in your own face

Lost in the maze that we call our today
I can't be the only one anymore
Lost in the grey that we call our lives
Never knowing what's in store

Say goodbye to the age of reason
Welcome my friend, to the eon of treason
Where man has no soul, no brain and no heart
Where death is the closest we're coming to art
The screams of the tortured, music to our ears
The loss of our weapons, the worst of our fears
Gun to the head over warm in your bed
This is the place where the living are dead

All good we once had is now buried and gone
And only the worst of our fathers lives on
In the wake of the rise of the blind and the feeble
I live by the art of a conquered people

The Four Seasons

Twisting, turning, hurly burly wears the rings of malcontent
Before its throne I cast my gaze, though never touching reason
Ripped and torn in unclean scorn, the rags go all to pieces
The massing drool says I'm the fool, commited to self treason (an act for every season)

Watch the dream go floating by with all your cares around it
Nod to greet it, turn away, calm faced, yet still astounded
The pitter patter of worthwhile matters grows softer with each day we meet
So bitter is this honeysuckle crowding at my feet

The monotone of aging bones grows to a monster's roar
A blizzard green surrounds me, and I cannot see its end
The whistling dove of life and love sings to this stranger in the garden
But promptly quits its blathering, as the gardner comes to tend (we can't allow the rules to bend)

Rebirth has turned to harvest and the cycle rolls off axis
The chordling cherubs flap their wings, and leave me in greening pasture
The scent of flowers, sex, and death, grows heavy in the air
Though their sources all escape me, in their direction I still stare

Meadows, valleys, colored rust, leave me as I am
The silent Spring you offer me is little but a sham
So pass away, your new today, and usher on the leaves
Though their time is fleeting, they're have something to believe

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