All the trees I see are dead.
Leaves visions swimming in my head.
The wind roars strong I think it said,
"Son make your peace and break your bread."
Collect on all the love you've lent.
You'll need it for what's coming next.
Don't allow yourself to be misled.
Careful now with where you tread.
No going home once you have left.
You know life hangs by slender thread.

I appreciate the sunshine
and happiness as much as you.
I've just gotta stigma on my vision,
you could say my views askew.
I can't help but see the menace
in every cloud that's floatin through.
Just can't help but get the feeling
that something wicked's coming soon.
It's a permanent disposition,
the world is twisted with a vicious hue.
It can be hard to explain,
but if anything I say is true.
With a sullied and a bitter eye,
you will surely see the world anew.

Come one! Come all!
Hey, bring the kids!
Whatever your trouble buddy,
I've got the fix!
I've got cures of all kinds,
in a thousand different shades.
They can even be ingested,
in a thousand different ways!
You can shoot it or snort it,
hell, you can smoke it in a pipe!
All my snake oil's cheap,
I've got just the kind you'll like.
The first time's even free!
(The second might cost double.)
Don't worry about your soul,
just let the elixirs fix your troubles.

Hi, **. Hi, **!
It's off to work I go.
Chewing on some coffee grounds
and choking down my smokes.
Hi, **. Hi, **!
It's time to start the show.
I'll attach a cordial mask
and leave my brain at home.
Hi, **. Hi, **!
Oh say it isn't so.
This place will be the death of me
and then they'll work my bones.

The meek will not inherit ****,
that's a common misconception.
The miracles of Jesus Christ
were all subtle deceptions.
****, if you believe in fantasy
as thick as the resurrection,
you'd probably claim the earth was flat
if that's what society expected.
Your preacher was a mega-phone
for a money hungry despot.
Centuries have come and gone
when will you people get the message?
If he's real friends, God is dead,
or he built the planet and ******* left it.

Such a conundrum,
severe desperation for sleep,
but I'm a word zealot.
As the moon increases altitude,
the pen flows,
freely.
Two a.m. when,
I'm ****** and sufficiently lubricated,
near delusional,
from three days lack of sleep.
I ***** ink and emotion on a page,
it solidifies,
I'm ******* King Midas!
That's when the magic happens... Sometimes.
I wake up on the floor in a,
putrid puddle.
No evidence of effort,
save an ink stained rug and,
cigarette butts.
Most times it's just ****.

I am a straw man,
strap me up and leave me alone.
All the day, my hollow gaze
may haunt your humble home.
I have no brain nor heart nor flesh,
nay, not a single bone.
I'm just a man of wicker,
meant to frighten off the crows.