I love the stillness of the mornings with you
when there's nowhere we need to go to find elation's gift
when words you speak communicate nothing I need to hear
save for those lovely tones expressing your desire to kiss

You're in a room full of wicked servants
without a clue as to what you're doing here.
One of them tells you to go light the furnace.
And then he vanishes into thin air.

Your shaking hand holds a used book of matches.
You tear one out and then you strike up a flame.
At seeing this everyone starts laughing,
then suddenly convulse in terrible pain.

At your right hand a thousand have fallen.
No memory of them will remain on the Earth.
To your left countless mourners are crawling,
loudly cursing the hour of their birth

Then all at once you're in pitch black darkness.
The floor beneath you tilts, you start to slide.
Until finally you find you are falling.
There's wailing sounds of fear on every side.

You search your memory banks to recall an old name,
that long ago you heard, or was it a dream?
You have a notion that if you could remember
and call it out, you would be rescued and freed.

Freed from this nightmare world without any ending,
and spared from an eternal suffering.
That fire you started up for warmth is burning.
It's underneath you now, searing your skin.

Inside your pounding head a voice starts shouting,
"He was a fisherman but you're no fish!
He was a shepherd but you're not some lamb!
You are a coward and an evil man!"

Then in a harsher tone if possible still,
"Such is the price for your free will.
I myself had no such thing.
Only the judgement of a God and a king."!!

Smoke and ash, your soul is gone.
Your last days here are far too long.
You're sick, you cry, you pray to die.
When shadows fall, go greet the sky.

A world of shame covers our names
when all things sacred are profaned.
Perhaps because they're not explained
in simple terms to cure our pain.

May God forgive what we don't know
having to do with self control.
May he bring peace we've not yet found
and help us lay our weapons down.

Smoke and ash, our souls are gone.
There's nothing innocent we've done.
I've torn through you, you've torn through me.
We've done it hypocritically.

With friendship's laughter in the day
and anguished frowns on bitter nights,
we drank the cup of poisoned wine
and then complained when we went blind.

When for a moment we've relaxed
enough to let our guard fall down,
we've learned the Earth is angry flat,
we've plunged knives in each other's backs.

Smoke and ash, we're smoke and ash.
Silently we'll sleep at last.
No more to gain, no more to lack.
Except the sky profaned and black.

The thing you have in common with your brother,
is that you hate all that he does quite differently than you.
And that you're not humble enough to bother,
to work for peace that's good enough for two.

That devil's name is unruly.
His disorder's great, he lacks all self-control.
His place is always discheveled.
He won't wash his face, there is nowhere he goes.
He snarls and hisses so rudely.
And boldly declares that he's not coming out.
Out of that poor man until he,
eats dust and with blind eyes goes stumbling about.

That devil's name must be torture.
She'll fill you in on what you do not know,
those nights you desire her pleasure,
and pay to gain entrance to her lovely show.
She'll satisfy all your cravings.
Then she will leave you to wail and to cry,
all alone coldly reflecting,
the price it has just cost your soul for a ride.

In green days of longing, a youth fills his mind
with notions of love and drives so unkind
fragrances blossom, unbridled and wild
from warm skin empassioned 'neath ivory smiles

bitter-sweet fruits grow in bellies of night
when desire's tempted, to ****** they might
protected like first-borns, not wanting to die
'neath ivory smiles, she teases, "come try."

too early however, he's emptied of fire
the girl yearns for more, she conceals her ire
behind the veneer of a thin, vacant smile
she lies: "That was good. Now let's cuddle a while."

O'kind stranger,
you remind me,
of someone I've seen before.
In a movie,
or on some street.
Maybe right outside my door.

You shake my hand,
firm but gentle,
and bring forth an honest smile.
On a face rather familiar,
then you say,
"Dad, I'm your child."

All confused, I can't remember,
the facts behind what you claim.
So I ask a simple question;
"Sir, please tell me, what's your name?"
"Henry", you say to remind me
then suggest I take a nap.
"Henry", I say, "Can you show me,
where the nearest bed is at?"

"Come with me", you say, "I'll show you."
To which I honest reply:
"Who are you?"
You say, "I'm Henry."
I ask, "You're my son, s'that right?"
"Yes", you answer. "Yes", once more,
to confirm what isn't sure,
as you lead me though the door
to where I've not been before.

Nervously I glance around.
You say, "Dad, please settle down.
You'll feel better if you sleep."
I take your hand, saying,  "Don't leave."
"O'kind stranger, please hold my hand,
'til I drift from this strange land,
into unrecognized dreams;
robbed of all my memories."