Old crippled man, charcoal burnt and ashen,
a thousand days debauchery molded you in this fashion.
Haggard and stiff, you can barely walk across the stage--
no one ever thought that you would make it to this age.
Your girth has expanded (although it’s covered well),
but still your piercing voice summons demons up from hell.
Not as strong as it was once, but eerie just the same,
calling those who’ve followed you, who now chant your name,
to assemble in our legions, gathered in this shrine,
where we repeat the catechism, in throbbing metered rhymes.

Are you a madman? Or just a troubadour
who lends melodic shimmer to verses dark and dour.
Whose singing slides and skims along the edge of sanity,
but who never surrendered to the true evil of vanity.
Recovered from drunken, dissolute despair,
to call the faithful masses back, never mind the wear and tear--
to plod the journey of your craft, to sing before the crowd
whose loyalty, to your band, forever is avowed.

Rain’s a-coming, I’m seeking higher ground
Rain’s a-coming, I’m seeking higher ground
Ain’t gonna stay here, ain’t gonna stick around

River’s rising, gonna flood the town
River’s rising,  gonna flood the town
Ain’t gonna stay here; ain’t gonna be around

The wind’s a gonna blow, gonna blow your house down
Wind’s a gonna blow, gonna blow your house down
Better run for the hills, better run for higher ground

Down at the White House, they’ll say you don’t need to fear
Down at the White House, they’ll say you don’t need to fear
That there ain’t no global  warming, that there ain’t no change to fear

Don’t listen to the man,  hear the sky above
Don’t listen to the man, hear the sky above
Gotta save your skin, gotta save the things you love

Don’t listen to the man, listen to the wind
Don’t listen to the man, listen to the wind
Trump ain’t gonna  save you when the walls come caving in

Don’t listen to the man, listen to the sea
Don’t listen to the man, listen to the sea
The big wave’s a-comin’, coming for you and me.

A torrent gushes from the serpent’s mouth
wave upon breaking wave; it’s ALL fake news
swiftly eroding what is left to lose.
Democracy’s waterlogged corpse drifts south,
a bloated mess; all waters to infuse
with putrefaction, thus to breed disease
uncivil war invades our fantasies;
the polarized extremes now pay their dues.
Propping things up: it’s what they do the best—
business as usual, pawns all occupied
in scaffolding facades upon the West
and sculpting the friezes of fratricide…
but underground, the currents cave away.
Media will fail; God brings a brighter day.

I’m a killer but don’t have a gun
I’m a mother but don’t have a son
I’m a lover but don’t have a man
I’m a celebrity who’s missing a fan
I’m a politician without a campaign
I’m the loner who might be insane
I’m an athlete, with no race to run
I’m a community, of one.
I lead many lives, but mostly in rhyme
I’ll be everyone
and no one
if given enough time.

Stop. Stay.
Don’t turn away.
Hear. Don’t fear.
Don’t fold.
Look bold.
Fate will grip
iron bars.
Hold.
Find your fire;
hike down back road.
Tell your tale
with song, with soul.