Dead Men Do Tell Tales

Dead Men Do Tell Tales I saw, the rot of sad, deep selfish desires, burning endlessly in clever fires Piles of cash a tall mountain high stolen by those that cleverly steal and lie six lying days every week , while they race into church pretending to be ever so mild and meek The preacher crying all to give so much more while he lives in a mansion with a golden door drunks living with no other life have sacrificed family and wife naked women on the the street, selling their pride and body like meat hustlers getting rich selling poisonous dope as they hang themselves with an evil rope I looked for solace and found there was none just endless cowards crying on the run A world teaching wrong is so damn right blind monkeys never seeing the light dancing in fruitless trees, tree-rats eating with relish their rotting cheese Looking for Spring to bring life anew I too am blind and without a damn clue a fool holding onto a false hope on a tight leash and even shorter rope Where is the miracle we each think can come we see it shining there for some A treasure glaring in the glimmering Sun gifted not stolen by guile and a gun So I finally turned to family for relief ease my Soul, winter in my long lost belief that Life must give us all a saving line other than more food when we sit to dine R.J. Lindley Nov 9th, 1984