If I would meet a Genie
On a parched and dusty road,
Found down upon his luck
With wishes to be sold.
Well,
Just one,
If truth be told.
Rattling around the lamp
Unkempt, rusted, and old.
I would trade all my tomorrows
To take away your pain and sorrow.
So I turn out all my pockets,
Gifts of silver, lint and gold.
Promises of future earnings
Whatever I shall own.
Offers of the occult.
Blood, shadow and bone.
The sum of all my dreams,
The deed to my weary soul.