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.