There are a million kinds of hell
And they show us what we’re worth
More than a million paths to hell
And hell can be right here on earth.

Hell can be the job you choose to take
Or maybe it’s the place you choose to live.
It can be the lies you tell to others
And times you chose to take and not to give.

Some know stories all about the devil
And think that hell will come when we die.
But look around the world at those who suffer
And you may cease to question where and why.

There’s the hell that lying binds you,
And the hell when lust will blind you.
There’s a hell when envy grinds you
And when absolute riches find you.

Sometimes hell is exactly what you make it be.
Something you’re not strong enough to duck.
Others have their hell ****** upon them.
Maybe it’s all not much more than luck.

Hell is when you feel your life is suffering
And nothing ever will come set you free.
Giving up all hope of any rescue for you
How much worse can the Bible’s hell be?

There are a million kinds of hell
And they show us what we’re worth
More than a million paths to hell
And hell can be right here on earth.
There’s the hell that lying binds you,
And the hell when lust will blind you.
There’s a hell when envy grinds you
And when absolute riches find you.

I don’t mean to be insulting
To all you devout Blisstians
But I am not, and won’t be
Any kind of American Christian.
I have studied long and hard
Over a half century of years
And thus, I shall leave you all
To your hopes and your fears.

I find your religion
A strange philosophy.
It doesn’t quite work,
Or so seems to me.
Your god will have
An End Of Days mess
You do what you want
And then you confess.

You can be a right *****
Until you are ninety three
And then confess to Jesus
And you’re home free.
So, tell me again, please
How does this thing go
That there are things that your
Omnipotent god doesn’t know?

It doesn’t seem to be
Well thought out to me.
After thousands of years
Of sainted holy history.
It sounds more like it’s
A money-making scheme;
A deferred payment plan,
A fun-house ride of screams.

Looking back on the stories,
Two thousand years of war;
Of persecution and burning
And horrendously much more.
And who wrote what and when,
And more importantly why,
This mythological poem here
Could make a grown scholar cry.

So, I shall reserve my judgment
About your Judgment Day
I’ll go on and live my life
In a kind and considerate way.
I won’t put on your robes
And make your sacrifices.
I will thank you all to leave me
To my own Un-Christian devices.

I got off the bus
At Eighteenth and Vine
Everything in the window
I wanted to be mine
Beautiful shirts there,
Suits, shoes and hats.
But I couldn’t buy them
No, I couldn’t do that.

I was the wrong color
For Matlaw’s, He said.
That place was for coloreds
And rich pimps instead
Not a tow-headed white boy
What hasn’t got much sense.
I went there that one time
But, I haven’t been since.

But, oh I wanted that suit,
With cranberry hat and shoes.
Even though I had no place
To ever wear it, I knew.
But, I love that store there
On eighteenth and Vine
Even though I knew nothing
In that store could be mine.

The bus went by there
Every day I passed it by.
To this day, I grieve
And never understood why
A Caucasian market
Like I represented
Might go there inside there
And be soundly resented.

It wasn’t a good thing
It’s just how it was then
Before the civil rights thing
Would finally begin.
But I never knew colors
They way others did.
But, what did I know?
I was just a young kid.

But, oh I wanted that suit,
With cranberry hat and shoes.
Even though I had no place
To ever wear it, I knew.
But, I love that store there
On eighteenth and Vine
Even though I knew nothing
In that store could be mine.

When I was young
My old Dad said
Keep thinking on your feet.
Don’t lose your head
And fall in love
With the first cutie you meet.

I always tried
To pay good mind
To what my Dad always said.
To let his words
Find a proper place
In the good part of my head.

But Dad never told
Of seductive types
Who were after your paycheck.
They can smile at you
And then turn your life
Into an emotional shipwreck.

They act shy at first
Butter wouldn’t melt
But wait until a few dates later.
They finagle and flirt
And then do you dirt;
Make you ready for your creator.

I learned to slow down
And ask many things
To learn what she is all about.
Now I don’t find myself
Laid out on my floor
Gasping like a dryland trout.

Daddy was correct
When he advised me
To move slow and be wary.
There have been many
Of comely young lassies
I am very glad I didn’t marry.

Does anything ever mute
The sound of dying men’s screams
Who volunteered to defend
The righteous demands of greedy dreams?
The clouds roll quietly in
And who can tell if it is mist or smoke?
So, this pile of dead humans;
Are they enemies or a sick man’s joke?

Did they know what they were
When they piled into the planes and cars?
Did they have any idea why
They were ordered to march and fly so far?
Were they told they were fighting
For one thing when it was really another?
Were the coerced into uniform
By neighbors, teachers, fathers and mothers?

And when smoke clears each time
Do those that came after them to battle
Find some still lie there dying
So they can listen to the death rattle
Of one more brother or sister
Dying in the mud on their back
From a war that was started
When their nation was never attacked?

Glory and pride are words
That can be used to cover over lies
Like bandages over wounds.
But they don’t mute the mortal cries
Of those who died feeling tricked
About not defending freedom
But for money for the hand-picked.

Today is my birthday
And I don’t have to do a thing.
Not if I don’t want to
I can go on lying around loafing.
I can get up way late
And go to bed as late as I want.
I can watch cool movies
And I have birthday cards to flaunt.

I can have ice cream
And copious amounts of cake.
I can eat like a pig
Until there is no more I can take.
I can sit in BVDs
Or less if I so decided to do.
It feels so good to me
I may take off another day or two.

It means I am older
But it all feels the same to me.
I will change the number
But I don’t feel any differently.
I still like chocolate
And chicken fried and breaded right,
And good sci-fi movies;
Maybe two or three each night.

So sing me the song
And I will blow out the candles.
I’m ready for the party
And all the fun we can handle.
It’s not about presents
It’s all about the celebration
And one more year
In joyous, grateful continuation.

Does anybody know the time?
Thanks, but a.m. or p.m.?
We sent Romer out for beer
Has anybody here seen him?
He’s got our money and my car
Doesn’t it seem like a long time?
Or am I losing track of things here
And all my reason and rhyme?

Put another song on, guys
I am sick of the Grateful Dead.
I’m thinking it’s all the same song
Running right through my head.
Freakin’ Truckin’ making me crazy.
I like the song but jeez, guys
There must be another one
You can find one if you try.

Does anybody know the time?
Thanks, but a.m. or p.m.?
We sent Romer out for beer
Has anybody heard from him?
He’s got our money and my car
Doesn’t it seem like a long time?
Or am I losing track of things here
And all my reason and rhyme?

It seems like a few hours ago
Just hours of Hotel California;
The Eagles singing loud, us too.
Dancing, nearly getting a hernia.
And didn’t someone say something
About some tacos and some guac?
If I don’t get something to eat soon
I’m going to get up and try to walk.

Does anybody know the time?
Thanks, but a.m. or p.m.?
We sent Romer out for beer
Has anybody heard from him?
He’s got our money and my car
Doesn’t it seem like a long time?
Or am I losing track of things here
And all my reason and rhyme?