Our carpenter wakes, looks through window,
Sees the morning star, eats breakfast cereal.
The exploited saint, stands on a table;
"Drink me up" says he so commercial.

You can take Him out of his heavenly domain,
But you can't take the heaven out of Him.
You can burn His body but His spirit remains.
Desecrate handsomeness, needle pierces skin.

Lay it down, sugared up, milk and honey,
Eternity is a long time to get bored.
Heaven is cloudy, but Hell is sunny,
Empty gate, nobody died, impatient ******.

Our Heavenly Lady smiles, nobody looks down,
To the clean floor, Mother lays weeping.
Another stoner put in his cave casts a frown,
Messiah arises, but the world stays sleeping.

Lights, warm glow.
Sun, burns hole
in the floor.
Only temporary,
a moment and
the hole moves on.
Now it's on the wall.

Inquisitive eyes,
on divine face
talking to me,
"Why are you
staring
at my shadow?"

Death scroll on the stone brick wall;
"Died in battle, year eighteen oh six".
'On first name terms with a cannonball'.
The mind said lies the eyes played tricks.

Must be the tiredness. Where am I?
Lady Luck is a bad dealer. Counting sheep.
Can't shuffle and I keep rolling snake eyes
In this cruel game. I need some sleep.

Time for your close up, get on stage,
Curtains up, intermission, curtain call.
Turning mustard yellow with old age,
The rules were written on the death scroll.

Script me a play with no direction at all.
Sinning sleep, work is a virtue we all hate.
'On first name terms with a cannonball'.
Kiss for a cross, Lady Luck named Fate.

Famous Leatherstocking was a mighty hunter,
Like a male Artemis; Freischutz without bullets.
He did slay many a fiend for Minerva;
Slicing their gullets, before burying the hatchets.
He whistled as he skinned the prey he killed,
And wisdom hung about him like thick mist;
He told stories and glorified all the blood spilt,
But never did he mention the few he missed.
There will always be ones like Leatherstocking,
Those who **** for sport, who like to brag.
When there's no prey left and nothing's shocking,
He might hunt down the children who've been bad.
Or that's what they'll say to keep us in line,
For we are the children Minerva left behind.

Drawn and marked out in sand
The tide will wash it away.
Kneeling and then groove by hand;
The wave clean slated our names.

Wear a heart upon your sleeve
Not a ******* in your chest.
Hoping that you'll never leave,
Take my hands, my head; infest.

My body has absorbed all hate,
And converted into passionate rage.
The system annoys and frustrates,
Pushing me to rebel, and create.

I love so much and want peace,
But am losing faith in the cross;
I don't want to be cross, madness cease.
Belief all gone, but not All lost.

A crown of thorns on my head.
I'm laughing soon,
I never asked for anything except "Why?"
An answer. "Why?"
"Why have you forsaken me?"
Sadistic isn't it?

I never mention sacrilige,
And I never talk about blasphemy.
I haven't read the Bible.
Who wrote that?
God didn't have a pen,
Yet He designed us.

I shudder. Nailed to wood. RIP.
The alcoholic flowers drink my water.
Hallelujah! Wear my pain around your neck.
**** your fellow man,
Because he must die like I did,
For his crazy beliefs.

Poppy fields grow
seeds make *****
****** and morphine dreams
and the leaves
can cure leprosy
and answer all your needs.
Poppy leaves boiled taste like spinach,
and could be used in a
fragrant dish, fit for a king.

They made their graves and layed in them too,
in the poppy fields.
They didn't cook. They didn't shoot up.
They didn't have leprosy. They just died
amongst the flowers
and bullets
and shrapnel
and smoke.
They were sent to die. They were our kings.