Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
A drunk piano player sits alone upon the bench
And his words are slurred together, but message all makes sense
He prophesies while a full glass lies safely in his right hand
The world spins then once again rests his head upon the Grand
As he wipes away the dribble from his world-weary mouth
The smell of whiskey fills the air, before his lips spout out,
“All our tears o'er the years are kept in a jar in God’s overcoat;
His breath, it makes every snowflake to give us sinner’s hope
He tips the Mason jar, his right hand full of grace
His speech sways the saline, each to its sacred space
Water crystallizes into forms all unique
Like the souls of those children who cried themselves to sleep
In catacombs, I stray alone because I long to be afraid
Valley of bones, I call you home, safe from what my hands have made
Like stars pretending to still be alive
An apparition of the glory that once gave birth to light
I am a skeleton of the man that once had life"
His words break the silence, hands slam upon the keys
The notes of discordance bring the world to its knees
The soothsayer sings of future things too great to be known
Of gnashing teeth and endless grief and ungodly moans
He sings, “A piccolo is playing the dirge for the dead
And soldiers sigh where angels fear to tread
Creation kneels while the devil steals the crown of the earth
He masquerades in a clownish parade as the world awaits rebirth
A harvest of hemlock! For every girl and boy!
Let us mourn for our fathers and the fall of Mother Troy
The peace of childhood seems deluded naïveté
And if ignorance is bliss, growing dumb sure seems heavenly
Am I to blame for the blue-black flame that burns in place of my eyes?
What life is this? As if I exist to count shells where once were lives
Take a drink from the bottle of prosperity
Before the damning dark of disbelief
Removes the veil off our eyes to see the world's plea for mercy
The moon is turned to blood and the world is full of fright
The atheistic priests commiserate over pints
Rasputin sings while Jezebel brings a word from the Lord
Babies they weep while their mothers sleep, hands a-ready at the sword
Glory falls from the clouds and luminescence swallows sight
Everyone is blinded; everyone has seen the light
Satan rants while children dance, lamb and lion reconcile
The Son of Man, He takes the hand of every singing child
The prophet he falls, the patrons all go home
The world still spins, the world she still groans
The bartender asks, "Where have all the good men gone?
Where have all the good men gone?
Are we left here all alone?
No finality and no direction home?
Where, o where, did we all go wrong?"