4/12/18 2:10AM
is there a person left on this earth
whose brow is not sullen
by miniature imps stealing their mirth
it seems as though the new millennium pushpin
and all its post-chaos discordant whine
draws worms out from under the skin
and the crowds all gather for beer
raining from the sky
when everyone would rather be clear
but i’m done playing coy
and denying myself that joy
from dead eyes, thrones and ears
and now my ears hang low
as the evening takes its due
but i’ve got a subtle breeze
and some magic up my sleeve
just waiting to make a drive to you
i swear i can hear those iron wheels screech
and torrid bells in steeples preach
whenever her name pops up
and extends that ghostly reach
but now that one night is done
and another of mania stands in the way
i’m going to stop feeling so glum
with some scotch in my bones
and a handful of stones
i’ll shatter this glass house for fun
in black and white i’ll stay
and wait for the credits
avoiding further disarray
but if i take my lumps
and get rid of the mumps
i’ll be just fine for the day