Come hear, come pride
Come near, go hide

The drums that beat
The thud of the street

No fear, no course
Make ready your horse
Wearing black and red
Well drank, well fed

Drum - near
Drum  - fear
His heels slam deep
A soul will sleep

He’s - here
He’s - near
A whisper, don’t shout!
Now pass it about

Drum
Drum
Drum
Drum

Girls dance, we jeer
Face dry, no tear
Chains clang, wheels turn
Your pitty, we’ll earn

Fire
Straw
Blood on the floor

One blow, one try
Don’t miss! you’ll die!

Pray for me
Pray for me
Pray for me
Please

Confess of my sin
God's glory to win

Oh lord - oh god!
The tongues!
Hot rods!

Flesh burns and fries
Man weeps, not cries

We wanted this
Wanted this
Wanted this
gore

We can’t watch no more!
feet stuck to the floor

don’t turn away
It’s theirs to pay

Breath - in

grieve - sin

Hold fast, hold steady
His sword is ready
Take comfort, take pride
Heavens gates open wide



time to die
time to die

A cheer, a scream
One faints, red dream
He takes up the head
Gods justice you said


Thank you
Thank you
Thank you
Sir

This is gods way
The devil will say
Now turn away
For your soul - we’ll pray

Franz *******

Franz *******

Franz 

*******



Franz



*******

works burned to cinders
poplar trees leaking resin
bulging eyes lashed
punishment as a lesson
but his chain links snapped
fresh from slavery
hefty debts to the procession
the gally of people alike
that lent him a hand to his ascension
a journey his own
luck and his mind
fortified his constitution
they carried him to his fate
that was to be
absolution

The November 25, 1963 day of the cold sun,
the noble horses,
white horses-drawn caisson,
the dignity of their somber gait,
silver shoes resounded on the
pavement,
the skittish night-black riderless
horse-
Black Jack, led down the avenue
of the people,
his symbolic rider, no longer
bound to the earthly life, it's
sorrows.

The noble horses accompanied
him on his journey to the ages,
the mystique, the dreams,
deathless,
where the ground is hallowed-
Arlington.

It’s all taking too long--
The commute, the wait
The procession, the speech
The descent, the dark--
I’ve dressed for the occasion
And repose in my finest robe
I just wish
He’d hurry up
Already

--
c

Here comes the procession.
They march through streets muddied with rain.
They're lead by figures dressed in black.
People look on in fear at their raven masks.

The birth of the daughter was sad,
because there's a sickness that plagues this land.
It feeds on those doomed to a horrible fate.
Though they start out their lives in innocence.

No one knows when it will end,
how does death take one's hand?
Those figures dressed in black take off their masks,
to reveal humans who have been put to task.

But people move on and pretend,
that this plague does not prey upon them.
Only a certain few must suffer the memories,
and they'll question the silence of this land.

There was a funeral procession today
Did you see it?
I didn't get too
I bet it was beautiful
Lot's of black?
I've always liked black
How many cars were in it?
10? 20?
30?!
I would have given anything to see it
I wish i wasn't cooped up in this box
I miss everything

Swallows round steeples,
Indifferent as enlightened ones,
Purple robes in skies.