The Box
Where I live is in between
A memory and a dream
Walking a tightrope each day
I light my self on fire
And take a big box
And head down Main Street
The weasels in the front of Bill’s Cafe
Love it, spewing hate and spit
And laughing at me because they don’t know
What I know
I know the truth
The cold hard dark truth
Yes I have seen the burning bush
I have stood on the mountain
I have heard the words of Martin Luther King, Jr.
And I too have a dream
I have dream that one day a man
Will not have to live in a box on the streets of Bogota
The slums of Shanty Town will rise above the sewage
That the stench of death on the road to the Congo
Will rise over our heads and blow towards the lands of freedom
Once the west has felt and seen the pain our brothers are in
We shall as a people, as a nation, as a world rise up and crush the inequities of
Poverty and prejudice and cast off the yoke of oppression.
I see that day as clearly as I see the dream of the ancient God’s
They will crumble at our feet and we shall walk upon them as Jesus
Walked on water.
Come one, come all ye sinners for Jesus is a trick on the weak and faithful.
The men of the cloth need you to believe.
Don’t fear the truth because you will never know it.
Trust in me for I will save you.
Now how about a bit of money for your savior?
Kneel by the alter, supplication
Come boy help your Father
I need the box you see for it is my home
I live (if you call it that) on the streets
Of America’s home towns
I’m on the corner of your cities
The greenbelts of your suburbs
I am the coyote of humanity
And I am coming to take apart your lives
Limb by limb, bank account by bank account
Your debit cards and credit cards can’t buy my loyalty
I will disembowel your nuclear family
And leave you wishing that your Beamer
Wasn’t bloody red
I will wash the streets with your sin
And then I will go back and live in my box
Alone with my dream.
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