Intimate trappings pump boring blood
through quiet streets
Hell hath frozen
Heaven hath burned
So deep, up to the ankles
Rising at the pace of the sun
Holy shouters pour magma
Orange ******* shout into the wind
The halting of steps
brings so many to their feet
Imploring goodness, well being
Fraternizing on the beach
the youth rages in defiance
of the howling vengeance
Spitting and coughing, greeting the end
That can only be the new beginning
Rebirth castrates the future
With the yellow horizon, now fully aware
of the time, the place, the score
Deep in echo, deep inside an empty husk
the new becomes blasé
Stuck in those waves of progression
willful hands cover ignorant eyes
Not a care but that of self
'Bring me to the end' they sing
'Bring me the head of my fathers'
'Bring me the blood of my blood'
Seaward the sun rises and rests
The looming threat is the new order
It's the new normal
And they'll surely find something to complain about
though it's exactly what they asked for

A day passes like a soft lullaby
as water flows through the harbor
Quietly within a stoking murmur
that isn't anywhere near a skirmish
Leaves waft to the floor
and rest til the next breeze
Sunlight ripples across a scenic postcard
And the time passes
until it's time to drink

you have your money,
your comfort
but you have not the faintest hint
of a real revolutionary thought
So why, tell me, do you vouch for it?
Scream for it?  Passionately vie for it?
as though your simple little life depended on it?
when you haven't the faintest idea
what it is to fight for anything
other than your parking spot;
your interest rate, your late dues on
things you hadn't a clue you bought

Can feel the hate all around,
changing who I am
It's hate on top of hate here,
pain next to pain
A mile wide wall,
a tower to the sky
Maybe hell is above,
heaven underneath
The same language spoken,
leading to a perverted Babel
Who's to say who's up or down?
In this place, people only feel without a care
and care without feeling

Tonight, on Park Avenue
There are mosquitoes
Mosquitoes and tuxedos
Making the same noises
Fluttering about
On a lovely breeze
Going here and there
Crossing the street
And back again
Buzzing, buzzing, buzzing
Looking for blood

It's a job to be in the cold,
see downcast eyes
that offer no comfort
Could be a bother
but it's the cost of a dollar
The unemployment rate plummets,
then why is there no food in my stomach?
Fiscal balance is a worthy risk,
yet certain corners still smell like ****
Certain streets are walked by unequal feet
The numbers don't lie
to those comfy pockets
who tell pillow lies
swooning sweet picture lullabies
to middle income homes
and high tech telephones
while it's a job to be in the cold
and it doesn't show up anywhere,
except in front of your face