"From the days of John the Baptist until now,
the kingdom of heaven has been advancing forcefully..
and the violent, seize it by force."
By 'his scrawny little neck' she grabs him
and pulls Him, from his Throne--
"Fucken know it all.. he don't know ****.."
blurts out she--
the all-seeing, ever defining one.
The paint on her war-brush
is the blackest of blacks..
as she brands me for
the orbiting of her
most clearly, lack.
And an ability that is all hers,
The one, self-given:
the power, to define.
And, she wonders where mine came from;
me-- who was once a mother's son..
As I ****** the grown-up a l l of me
into every single part of her
that feels, just like mom.
I was young once, my beautiful
helplessly.. (almost hopelessly) subject to it all
--but no more, my sweet
That black, babe-- it don't stick;
no, sweet love.. no,
no not no more;
can you hear me
can you hear me??
... can you hear me..?
Some say Pete and his pony vanished over the edge..
some say they remain frozen high up on that icy ledge.
The young Navajo girl washes in the river, skin so fair
and braids a piece of Pete's buckskin chaps into her hair.
I'm Outlaw Pete..
can you hear me?