The speaker spoke in a guttural cry
Screeching against the day
Dooming us all to lay down and die.

We all uttered a final sigh
Nothing for us left to say
The speaker spoke in a guttural cry.

Trembling, our fates cast and chide
Unholy it takes us down one way
Dooming us all to lay down and die.

No longer any charades to ply
To cause respite or other delays
The speaker spoke in a guttural cry.

That ******* who led us to fry
Missiles overhead as we pray
Dooming us all o lay down and die.

Nuclear fire, the apocalypse tries
To decimate the world, plutonium haze
The speaker spoke in a guttural cry
Dooming us all to lay down and die.

Mother Eagle soars, our glistening bodies once dared to lie.
Our spring love, her wing takes flight—hands find sweetness within our thighs.
Mother Eagle, ever watchful, for the day love flies—goodbye.

Your laugh was a fawn, soft-footed and shy,
Caressing my *******, our fingers explore sweet-shivering highs.
Mother Eagle soars, our glistening bodies once dared to lie.

A million ****** star-eyes count ecstasy’s cries—
Their hush reveals parted lips where our pleasure flies.
Mother Eagle, ever watchful, for the day love flies—goodbye.

Dawn awakes, finds our secret cove, wet ******* kissed by butterflies.
Jays echo our love-cries, our breathless replies.
Mother Eagle soars, our glistening bodies once dared to lie.

Now nettles creep where we once soared the skies,
Moss fingers our secrets, deep as memories dry.
Mother Eagle, ever watchful, for the day love flies—goodbye.

We find our secret cove again, and you ask why.
We strip, we kiss, our untamed passion never dies.
Mother Eagle soars, our glistening bodies once dared to lie.
Mother Eagle, ever watchful, for the day love flies—goodbye.

Mistaken for brothers, and maybe that's true
Before our departure, I’ve some things to say:
Don't die with your music still inside you.

From boys to men, together we grew,
Nostalgic memories of how we’d play.
Mistaken for brothers, and maybe that's true.

Twenty-five years, each version brand new.
I’m proud of how you’ve carved your way.
Don't die with your music still inside you.

You stayed close when I switched my crew,
Loving a man we once called gay.
Mistaken for brothers, and maybe that's true.

For you, there's nothing I wouldn’t do.
We’re growing older, slowly turning grey.
Don't die with your music still inside you.

I’ll always be there, even without a clue.
Live your life fully, don’t let it decay.
Mistaken for brothers, and maybe that's true.
Don't die with your music still inside you.

The black dog's whining starts inside your pain.
Your lashes flutter, closed against the light.
It drags you under, drowning you again.

My warm kisses trace your temple, all in vain,
To draw you back towards my voice, my sight.
The black dog's whining starts inside your pain.

Your skin's own scent captures sorrow's subtle stain,
A warmth receding in the morning light.
It drags you under, drowning you again. 

I smooth your hair back, feel the skin's soft grain,
Your beauty, a shadow, dim as fading starlight.
The black dog's whining starts inside your pain.

I hold you closer, though the fractures remain,
Your body present, spirit lost to white.
It drags you under, drowning you again.

I curl beside you, listening to the rain,
And breathe you in, preparing for the fight.
The black dog's whining starts inside your pain.
It drags you under, drowning you again.

" On the ground! " was screamed at the man in flames  
the police were baffled at what could be done,
" get down on the ground !" was screamed yet again  

Their guns pointing as the man writhed in pain
why should they care it's not their Bro' or son
" on the ground! " was screamed at the man in flames,

I guess the policemen felt kinda lame
a burning man is no threat to anyone,  
" but, down on the ground! " was screamed yet again

Burning tendons stretched his hands up in vain
there was no way the burning man could run
" down on the ground " screamed at the man in flames,

Hands holding guns began to show the strain
as burning fats flared to outshine the sun
but, " down on the ground " was screamed yet again

Later their bosses played the old blame game
But the police were lost totally stunned,
" On the ground " was screamed at the man in flames
And " down on the ground " was screamed yet again.

Though the Oomegoolie bird was well endowed      
it made its nest among sharp cacti plants    
then caws out oomegoolies very loud,    
    
On return to his nest ***** and proud,    
to bill and coo to find then squeak, " I can't "    
tho' the Oomegoolie bird was well endowed...    
    
So he lived, celibate, not on a  cloud    
no Ma to confide, no sis, Pa, or aunt      
tho' he cawed out oomegoolies very loud,    
    
And no mate to mate that he could've wowed    
his world lacked even a sniff of talent      
tho' the Oomegoolie bird was well endowed,    
    
That's why you'll not see these flock like a crowd    
and twitchers sightings are now somewhat scant    
tho' he cawed oomegoolies very loud,    
    
Wrap him stiff, at last, in his spiky shroud    
There was no hope for this would be gallant,    
Tho' he cawed oomegoolies very loud    
The Oomegoolie bird was well endowed.

Water trickling down into the river:
from clouds God's Spirit, like a dove, descends,
as a voice proclaims, My Son the life-giver.

On the sable hair of our forgiver
droplets form, as Jesus’ baptism sends
water trickling down into the river.

Sunlit torrents pour down from upriver
their roaring origin, in stillness ends,
as a voice proclaims, My Son the life-giver.

The veil rips open, a golden sliver
illuminates – with bright yellow beam-ends–
water trickling down into the river.

Is it the cold Jordan makes me shiver
or do I feel a something that transcends
as a voice proclaims, My Son the life-giver?

I stand and watch from the bank downriver
this man who will make fishermen his friends.
Water trickling down into the river
as a voice proclaims, My Son the life-giver.