So smile for the camera,
Leave your compassion on the hook in the hall.
Sit down, catch the call,
Brush my biggest fear right off your lap,
Over your shoulder,
Pretend not to notice it fall.
It’s just another day
In some fool’s paradise,
A paradise lost, but-
Brother, my brother,
In the end,
The very, very end,
How much will this cost?
A wolf in a wolf’s own expensive suit
Can go out on the town,
And he’ll take it on down.
And he’ll prowl through the
Half-lit neighborhoods
In which the other half sleeps:
On Newspaper clippings
In a cardboard box,
On a gusty day on a city block,
Spotted, once and again,
Through melted landscapes,
Through Mother’s old stained and
Pink-and-Spotted drapes…
There’s shallow eyes with beat-down spark,
In each and every lined and dusty face,
Whose strength is gone without a trace.
But, there remains
A yellow, crooked grin…
Some slight reminder of happiness,
But such happiness
Is a disgusting, foul-smelling sin.
He’ll check his hat, his jet-black coat,
His sympathy, at the door,
And he’ll block that door,
As it all comes to a close,
And your life is no more.
Your fate is held in the palm of some
Cold, undeserving, and ***** hand,
A beast of a man.
And then,
A wolf on the town
Is no different than
A snarling and rabid
Dog in the pound.
Suddenly, your tongue is no longer tired.
Suddenly, this precious world is on a tether,
And it’s slowly on fire.
The wolf, he tosses it around, but-
Brother, my brother,
In the end,
In the very, very end,
When can I play?
You’re uncomfortably silent,
You dare not say.
But we’re about to be through,
Brother, my brother,
For it’s getting hard to defend you,
You awful,
Grotesque,
Stereotype, you.
Someday, even your own kind
Won’t bother with you.
So beware, bully,
You are out of your place.
This is no tether ball,
No half-eaten game;
It’s nothing but a covered case.
It’s a ********* arms race.
You are no better
Than us, or the stains on
Our blistered, aching feet.
Your face is no more loving
Than the blood
Soaking the foreign, sandy streets.
So forget it all,
Run away, lest it turn against you,
And never look back.
Don’t dare for a round two.
Consider us your children,
Coming of age, and
Putting a price on your back,
For you are no better
Than that
God-forsaken Father
Who leaves,
And never comes back.
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 5:04 PM UTC
So smile for the camera,
Leave your compassion on the hook in the hall.
Sit down, catch the call,
Brush my biggest fear right off your lap,
Over your shoulder,
Pretend not to notice it fall.
It’s just another day
In some fool’s paradise,
A paradise lost, but-
Brother, my brother,
In the end,
The very, very end,
How much will this cost?
A wolf in a wolf’s own expensive suit
Can go out on the town,
And he’ll take it on down.
And he’ll prowl through the
Half-lit neighborhoods
In which the other half sleeps:
On Newspaper clippings
In a cardboard box,
On a gusty day on a city block,
Spotted, once and again,
Through melted landscapes,
Through Mother’s old stained and
Pink-and-Spotted drapes…
There’s shallow eyes with beat-down spark,
In each and every lined and dusty face,
Whose strength is gone without a trace.
But, there remains
A yellow, crooked grin…
Some slight reminder of happiness,
But such happiness
Is a disgusting, foul-smelling sin.
He’ll check his hat, his jet-black coat,
His sympathy, at the door,
And he’ll block that door,
As it all comes to a close,
And your life is no more.
Your fate is held in the palm of some
Cold, undeserving, and ***** hand,
A beast of a man.
And then,
A wolf on the town
Is no different than
A snarling and rabid
Dog in the pound.
Suddenly, your tongue is no longer tired.
Suddenly, this precious world is on a tether,
And it’s slowly on fire.
The wolf, he tosses it around, but-
Brother, my brother,
In the end,
In the very, very end,
When can I play?
You’re uncomfortably silent,
You dare not say.
But we’re about to be through,
Brother, my brother,
For it’s getting hard to defend you,
You awful,
Grotesque,
Stereotype, you.
Someday, even your own kind
Won’t bother with you.
So beware, bully,
You are out of your place.
This is no tether ball,
No half-eaten game;
It’s nothing but a covered case.
It’s a ********* arms race.
You are no better
Than us, or the stains on
Our blistered, aching feet.
Your face is no more loving
Than the blood
Soaking the foreign, sandy streets.
So forget it all,
Run away, lest it turn against you,
And never look back.
Don’t dare for a round two.
Consider us your children,
Coming of age, and
Putting a price on your back,
For you are no better
Than that
God-forsaken Father
Who leaves,
And never comes back.