Hot Bird

It’s not the walk of shame if it feels good
For those who’ve done good
And who have had good done unto them
Send my brother the hungry ghost
The name at least to sample his wares and get a taste for tea
In a word- revolution
It’s not a walk of justice
It’s a walk of justice in the name of love
A walk of justice to bathe both friend and foe
A pool of glistening, light listens to the waves of butterflies
Pouring themselves, crashing against the rocky shore,
Travel through soundscapes rich and pleasant above
To the solemn grumbling of the underground. Machines of death load you by the car load to bus you about their city of magic dreams all a fantasy with an eye on your hope But Atlantis sank…
An iron chain now shackles your throat
And begins a long day with no sun, a night that never darkens lest it’s planned for a plot
Mass removal of things, treasures, possessions
All things you would need to buy you more of that time that you thought you had bought
And they rip away children from their own mother’s bosom
To bully and blamed, arrest and imprison
For the life that they gave- or the life they were given-
Before in days they strung you up by the rope
But now they are chains that put you back to your work
Til you’re dead in your grave and finally forgiven
They mean to shackle me up too
For I’m un-uniform too
But I’m sure I’ll get off
‘Cause of my white tattoo
It tickles at most when I’m drinking’ the booze
That numbs all injustice, and shrouds lewd attitudes
I’ve forgotten injustice, what’s her name
“it’s justice,” they say, “that’s her name.” Or just what they call her.
Sounds foxy, sounds freaky
Do you think I should call her?
She’s a dame that gives good bang for a good buck or two


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