My heart it beats through lonely days
my head it heeds no warning
For I have loved you many ways
from dusk til waking morning.
The clock it marks my numbered days
each tick a token tear
My heart is held within your gaze
Why don't you see me here?

Silence comes
  from bones
that rot in the Earth
beneath a wet stone
with a carved name
   white as good teeth
in a hard jaw.

Silence is
  a homerun some kid
hit in Tennessee
in 1973 and a father
remembering the ball
  going like a bullet
deep into left center.

Silence is
  a brother grimacing
whispering your name,
through salt
  and tears on his cheeks,
one last time.

Silence, it just is...
  quiet, like pain.

I wander through the evergreens
past stones no longer bearing names
the posy scent of faded blooms
now mingle with the falling rain.
My only company a crow
with beady eye and mourning clothes
aloud he cries into the squall,
this keeper of a thousand souls.
He leads me on to where you lay
in silent slumber all alone
in comfort now I pray you'll be
each stormy night and frosted morn.
The wind now moans its sweet lament
to bow the trees, their heads in shame
as tattered posies turn to dust
among these stones that bear no name.

a crooked ugly man walked up
and said "all hope is spent
i'll build a wall and save you all
and be your president

believe me, i can cure all ills
and make all merkins proud
if you'll just take this oil of snake
i sell to every crowd

for any lie becomes the truth
if you but scream it thrice
so plant the seed then others bleed
and you don't pay the price

come spend your vote to buy my line
of prejudice and hate
ignore the churl of all the world
we'll make our nation great"

a machinating woman comes
the way her husband went
"i've done no crime i'm next in line
to be your president

you see how he goes off the rails
and nothing said is true
i can't shoot straight, i fabricate
but never lie to you

lost last time when set to win
this time did what i can
and worked my scut to undercut
an inconvenient man

we're dealing from the bottom, folks
the country's gone to ***
i may not be the best there is
but i'm the best you've got"

so laugh about it, shout about it,
when you've got to choose
your **** is hoist on Hobson's choice
the poison or the noose