Daily mounting pressures
What hides behind the eyes
You've tried your best to catch her
This crazy thing called life

While imitating art
No one saw you draw the signs
Sadly here you are
Dressed up like suicide

If you had asked permission
Would they grant the fall
Have you ever heard them listen
To your cries before

Set with tunnel vision
To the world outside
Giving out you give in
Dressed up like suicide

What was once distance thunder
Now goes off in your head
The down pour pulls you under
Held by the hand of death

A cushion for your problems
Sign on the dotted line
Smoke em if you got em
Dressed up like suicide

I gave the old man my knife
he cut the bread
we shared it through
the kingdom far

he was Sunni
I a Shiite
our children ate together

Muhammad
sat at the table
the date 632 AD
our difference
I said at the time
Hoseph , such a small qualm

he sat glaring in indifference
as if
I was a different religion
an invading sect

to this day our children grow up in hate
share never the bread or
the wisdom

but hate

and is it what Muhammad said ?

Hate **** desecrate my sacred memory?

Time has told, unfortunate.

I've walked up and down these city streets
Left my prints along the beach
Searching for that which I need
But seldom is it within reach

Every nook and cranny in my home
Climbed high the mountain top alone
Never sure of where it's gone
The illusive poem

Day and night I will not rest
This poem to find I've made my quest
I've laid it out at my behest
There's nothing needed more than this

I've called up everyone I know
Rang the Vatican in Rome
I will not stop my on the go
Until I find this poem

I've trudged the jungles of the South
More places than I dare to count
And still have yet to figure out
How all this came about

I'll keep on with my keeping on
Never bowing to the loss of hope
Because deep inside one day I know
I will find this poem

I've looked up among the blinking stars
Telescoped Venus and Mars
Held up signs to passing cars
But failed to look deep in the heart

You'd have thought I would have known
The one place I failed to go
That's where it was all along
The illusive poem

Seems more and more to me these days
Makes no difference what people say
They're more like boxes built to squawk
Just wanting to hear themselves talk

They talk out loud, things randomly
With little care who's listening
They go to town while in a crowd
Doesn't matter much who is around

With little care they're unaware
Of what others have to say out there
Thinking nothing else if not about themselves
With all the whistles, all the bells

A battle of the tongue that's often fought
As people love to hear themselves talk
Seems more and more to me these days
Makes no difference what people say