Flames of Madness Fire

Part I my flesh is filled and fraught with foul disease; offensive is my life to mine own eyes that see me sail life's clear and cloudy seas where faith fills up or empties out our lies. now here I stand a broke and beaten man whose love of life laments obscurity but in the end ambition's naive plan reached in and stole my soul's integrity. I am but one who's never been an us: no flesh - no blood - no break of fast to feed; a lustful trust once wrapped in omnibus, ground down and made a graven slave to need. disgusted as those degradation days laid waste upon the taste of indiscreet; my soul a hole of black and blacker ways confronts chronicity of incomplete. there is no way to spread the dreaded blame; excused are those accused or left behind. I do so love to play the changing game in every little corner of my mind. I've traveled every twisted rut and road that zigs and zags across my mottled map and every road became an endless load and every stop became the same old trap. I've tasted magic mushroom's mellow cure alongside mystic natives in Peru; made love in huts to ladies quite unsure as glitter ghosts played rock and roll kazoo. I've sat inside the sacred Shaman ring where apparitions dervish-dance around but what the Shaman brought I could not bring - my last was lost - my first was never found. I'm jonesin' in the center of a city while waiting on some powdered China-white. I pray the man can deal a bit of pity or sick I'm bound to be throughout this night. I think I see my hero now a-comin' like a pimp he's dressed in tapered leather tripping proud with lanky strides and hummin' tunes he writes but cannot keep together. I'm watchin' death come walkin' straight at me and I don't think or blink a cautious eye but hand the Ferryman Charon his fee, relieved to leave without a shout "goodbye."