Her whispy straw-like hair
Strange green eyes that never rest
A smile no artist could ever paint
A frown to suicide a saint

Her voice fresh water that she never drinks
Her measured distance covers what she thinks
Laughter so human it inspires God
And sends Him back to work
Whilst she is unemployed

She's a taker; She's a mover; she's a doer
And what she gives makes charity cry
Her pride is rarely spoken loud
She's not comfortable in a crowd
But she drinks in others
As they drink in her;
She is blind where they don't care.

Her whispy straw-like hair transcends despair
Like only a Russian knows how;
Balanced compassion with a violent passion
But what light in those still hoping eyes

Plundering corruption
A boy an apple from a tree
Son you know that is wicked
Come on, and follow me.

You saw that strange fruit growing
The poor a hanging from a tree
Let's sing another song boys
Call it  US democracy

I free all kinds of good boys
In my old boy kinda way
From tyranical oppression
To the kinder Gentler me

And I say you must reform now
To our ever wanking little whim
Chairman Bush is on a roll now
Thinks he's facking Chairman Mao.

Listen to me? Please don't ! Why?  She asks;
Behind the doorway
Is the hanging balance of Love.
I'll take you gently, a walk across the floor
Wrestle you lightly up against the door
Then simmer down, to the Downs upon a horse
**** me gently in the black side of your heart

Good God it's Monday! I wan't to die she cries
And falls out kicking on her -
Friendship needs a motive; sweet love
It's Alibi
Hey, **** me gently in the black side of your heart

A ***** allergy to cast me out of Hell
A sneezing like coming from the brain
Nine times in a row as I left her in the snow
For something I'd lost
A long, long time ago.

The girl was sick and pregnant; sweating and sore
Her doctor was a humble, kindly man
He often drew on marijuana
Left her on the table
And left God to decide
Upon the sinews to reveal
Better not to propagate the table
Not to operate.

The swindler has a most convincing way
With your children well before they're born
He's in your pocket before your first *******
Bleeds your first wife's last abortion.

And sings on high it's time to fly
Time to leave the foster mother's frigid icy nips
Write off your wan crapulous ten year plan
Tom no more like tigers on the tactile plain
But join the orphanage in its raw and biting pain

Time to go back to a savage civility
That crucifies the sane with kid gloves and contempt
Chanting bold and blasphemous and oh, so democratic!
When Christ was always my dictator

Staring at the family photo album
This one; this one is almost empty
But contains most of the memories
That were best forgotten
Because
Tears don't make good pictures
Tears
Don't make good pictures
And I'm still crying so
Don't take any pictures

The family that prays together
tears itself apart
The young boy in the corner cries himself to sleep
Each one turns round in question
Receiving no reponse

Another come my love
sweet love and much disorder
Shall I be a pram-pusher myself?
And even though I know I should be dead already
The dancing night itself is not through.

Here stands the family.

I remember dark warm nights of love
When you were nothing more
Than a trembling shadow in my arms

For I was strong from years of reformation
I suppose I sat upon your knee too long
Or ****** too full the poison of your mother breast

Now my rainy day: a yesterday's nothing
And no one to take this tomorrow from my lips
I thought the moon sad until I saw the Sun cry

For years He hid his face away
And though you snakelike
Coil and crawl, I won't step on you
Because you bit me once in love.

What quality would guarantee your smile?
Admit such symmetry of beauty!
What God upon his knees
Would not be broken,
When a bite,
More than a kiss?

So what if I dance with deamons?
It is my demonstration of love,
In a world that pities death,
There's not muchleft at all.

If you have gone forever,
Well unto a longer, higher brow,
Then despite my cravings
I must dance with you no more.

And yet, I still crave you
From the carvings of the cave,
Where you left all imagination
Lost and wand'ring
Without answer,
In the hobo of the Soul.

Are you kinder than a jealous God?
Lost home and Goverment?
What God upon His knees,
When he is lost to you?

I have come to love a boy at last
A dandylion son, born
With an arrow in his eye
On that first day of battle
A willing child at the helm
To steer me through
the darkness of blind old age.

Oh the girl in the sun
Withered in the rain
All the thoughts that we shared
Moved me to cry
And though I know
That I still love her;
All we said of honesty was
Really just a lie.
I won't eat the crumbs
From your lover's table
I won't sit by
and watch them fall