Comb Your Hair

Dear sister I have been mistreated but surely not defeated The fit are unruly and those who rule unfit to wear their minds along their brow Pitted and fallen are we claimed she Uproot all the timid, surely they’ll quake The Earth is at rest while the heavens are testing Surely the catacombs are our place of hiding Rapture the worthy, the poor, and the hopeless still more Braven the brittle and salvage what’s left of the widow’s stores For we are at war, O’ good women, it’s a fight they will get A Patriot cry, a life worth living, a pride in my name that keeps me standing Hearty or meek, we’ll take the keep Bind them up, but don’t let them bleed for pure bred savages are what we need The breasts of the mothers who weep for the bodies The weary who laugh gas portrait tears leaving their insight foggy The Devil is hunting, Oh but let him flee For our fists will have him fishing for his faith like rotting bait Breeding among us are the wolves that seek only to measure their gut And they will fill the skies 70 meters high with the the must of unfinished feet Winded by bows of boredom and broiled beliefs Sifted through, borrowed, unused The lazy will not lay seated in our ancient sanctuaries They will lay pitted among the soiled seeds and left to the leeches Reign in the kingdom of popular knowledge do both snakes and sirens Danger is beneath us and furnaces over heat us, Leavened bread will rise our eyes to the souls in need of teachers If education ain’t free then dare me to teach for free Let linen and fleece overwhelm us all For the sun rises still again, constant with the moon Midnight is foreign and sunlight is gloom For inside these walls our eyes will close soon The mirrors outs our flaws and undersea our scars But heaven is shaking and creation’s worship awaits us If every day is good and every evening soon Then tomorrow is only distant, a matter of your zoom Jupiter is rising further south than my liking Perhaps it was the wind that blew it there Or the birds that sang it somewhere upstairs Or the lions that laughed it underneath body beats Or the vines carried it to prepare it for more pruning Signs are timing and the clocks are not ceasing So listen little one, I know you are bare, but don’t be a fool Comb your hair.