...It began when they come took me from my home And put me in Dead Row, Of which I am nearly wholly innocent, you know. And Ill say it again I..am..not..afraid..to..die. I began to warm and chill To objects and their fields, A ragged cup, a twisted mop The face of Jesus in my soup Those sinister dinner meals The meal trolleys wicked wheels A hooked bone rising from my food All things either good or ungood. And the mercy seat is waiting And I think my head is burning And in a way Im yearning To be done with all this measuring of truth. An eye for an eye A tooth for a tooth And anyway I told the truth And Im not afraid to die. Interpret signs and catalogue A blackened tooth, a scarlet fog. The walls are bad. Black. Bottom kind. They are sick breath at my hind They are sick breath at my hind They are sick breath at my hind They are sick breath gathering at my hind I hear stories from the chamber How Christ was born into a manger And like some ragged stranger Died upon the cross And might I say it seems so fitting in its way He was a carpenter by trade Or at least thats what Im told Like my good hand I tatooed E.V.I.L. across its brothers fist That filthy five! They did nothing to challenge or resist. In Heaven His throne is made of gold The ark of his Testament is stowed A throne from which Im told All history does unfold. Down here its made of wood and wire And my body is on fire And God is never far away.
Posted on: Thu, 16 Oct 2014 10:53:26 +0000
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