Combat

just because you don't believe in the devil, doesn't mean he don't exist. he lives in your brother's jar and your sister's needles and in that endless wishing well. as well as your deep deep pockets.

i heard you make love like a spanish poet. i heard you keep a box of guns buried in your backyard.

remember when you shaved my head in your bathroom? the weather was killing poor children and stray animals. 

the ghetto prince points his shortest long finger at the moon. he says in some unknown language, "the battle will never shut up. the moon will never know how i feel!" the yellow milk went down smooth and the sap soaked up the bugs and the revolution had already begun.

i will no longer judge a soul. no longer care about trivial trials and errors. if you rebel against anything you better make it yourself. you better swallow your mother's ring and kiss the mirror. 

i see the immigrants selling light bulbs

i see the musicians waltzing on the rooftops 

i see the mayor's son dreaming about his mother

i see the drawing you gave me of medusa 

i see the flowers bend in the wind

i see the junkies holding hands with the river

i see my sweetheart sinking like a stone 

i see the church on fire

i see the hills covered in moss and poison 

i see gabriella drained of all her blood and beauty

i see pictures hanging on dead people's walls

i see roadkill and want to cry

i see my hometown through a telescope

i see the drummers laughing at the absurdity 

i see the cowboys wearing face paint

i see the millionaire looking at her watch 

i see the storm coming closer

i see the snipers becoming the victims 

i see the lightning trapped in a bottle of booze 

i see the lion in a cage and the cage in a jungle

i see my mother, she's listening to al green and dancing

i see the muscle men reading turkish newspapers 

i see the girls i've loved stealing motorcycles 

i see the knights of persia calling for a doctor

i see silence too far to mention

i see jessica sharpening a chopstick into a knife

i see the architects die of young age

i see us standing with our backs to the ocean. peeling the paint off of our eyes as we laugh.