Mama Is Dead - the Soldiers Came
I - The dreamer
And dreams gift feelings eternal
in a finite clear real space.
That mountain range is a tidal wave -
land then sea morph as mire.
II - The green an' the dead
Conspicuous conservation,
small-scale grandeur panics
vulgar flaunting of poverty.
The refugees don't do green.
Landscape, geography, ignorance,
recreational-drug agriculture,
dick-heads, dead-heads, state-heads,
dead-ends, blind-bends, in-bed-friends,
piss-poor-politics,
regime-change fanatics.
Hey don't shoot us
we're just moving-target migrants.
Killing us won't change nothin',
not a dust-bust, two-cent, white-flag
god-damned thing.
Bella-Donna, Bella-Donna
toll the bells at shade of night.
And the breeze keeps on blowin'
and the killing keeps on going
and that sad moon keeps on shinin'
and the blood keeps on flowing.
Kill conscience an' tend the dying,
comfort the quiet - pass by the crying.
Bella-Donna, Bella-Donna
clang the bells in dread of night.
Ring the bells, the shape, the noise,
they peel your name.
III - Swan-song
I wish a glimmer of light
might eclipse the darkness ahead.
Curse the gods!
I should turn back
but they've ripped up the road.
Take a crossing through insanity,
mix it with inhumanity.
This road is endless as madness lures us.
Blindly we stumble, our temperatures rising
quicksilver slippery to journey on.
Copyright © David Flynn | Year Posted 2008
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