The Resurrection of Blue Sky
There's blood on my fresh roast coffee
blood on the sunny Sunday bell
blood on my tricycle wheels
across my blue-sky dreams
those devilish chem trails.
There's blood on John Lennon sheets
They're poisoning birds and honeybees.
They call us cattle, treat us like sheep.
Their arrogance blocks out our sun.
Sweaty jails swinging wide open for us.
Closed tight for the morally bankrupt.
They are mimicking Saturn's passion.
Munching away the faith of innocence.
Blood-blood-blood flowing everywhere.
It's all of them and always has been.
Demons drink without a care.
My blood pressure kisses the north side of high.
Patience hangs from the south side of down.
I used to traipse the woods to temper the grind.
Now I stay deep inside a cockroach house
a permanent bending of the mind.
Their egos are greasy and fatally stained.
Their arrogance-an incurable disease.
But what they don't understand is
that there's no escaping the crumbling castle
of the chronically damned.
God carved fate into the eternal face of time.
He will gild and elevate the little ones...
A resurrection of a blue-sky lullaby.
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