A New World

Drink the blood of dead things

And forget that you live in their grave

Feel the sorrows of a thousand generations

And choke on your privilege

Then again it ain't your fault

Eat the flesh of beautiful things

And know they died for you

Feel the pain of millions of little beasts

And slurp their fat as you season with salt

And get great on their sacrifice

Then again it ain't your fault

Board up your house from the foreign things

And forget their culture is yours

Their God is as flawed as your Savior

And get pious over violence

And get political about their plight

Them again it ain't your fault

They starve

They die

They live in terror

Not your concern

Not your life....

Not so long ago your kind

Was thrown to lions

Let them be thrown into a wall

All is as it ever was

Pious demonizing pious

All gods are

Not all gods are equal...

Gods tell man not to love man

Gods tell woman not love woman

Seems the same to me

Seems the same to me

Gods tell you to love your neighbor

Gods say not to love your neighbor

Seems the same to me

Seems the same to me

If a God there is

Isn't His/Her name Love?

If a God there is

Isn't Her/His name Love?

No regret when the owners you killed

No regret when the landless deny

No regret when the others despise

No regret when the future deny

Drink the wealth of the voiceless

Eat the home of the homeless

Wall up the defenseless

Ain't your fault anyhow....

Who said love is of God?
Oh yeah, your God said so

But who is He, who is your Savior....

Nothing to you,

When dirt with a meaningless name is the only God you know

Welcome to a new order

A new realm....

A new kingdom...

A fourth Reich.

Song

When it enters me, the rough, burning, light-filled stuff, that's when I know what I am: a beast.

The dullness of mind that silences the screams of the heart. Hello old ghost, make yourself at home.

Well not a home, but four walls at least. Four walls that creak and groan with the wind, the little wind chimes of the disenfranchised. Yet I am not a beast only, there is something else, something bright. And that brightness is seen when my voice becomes many, when my eyes stop beholding, when my eyes see, only when they see

One might stop and stare, and ask why? But when you look long enough all you can see is yourself, black skin, light skin, English, unknown sounds, female, male, all blurs into one when you really take a hard look. Not that we're all the same, but yet...we are one. The blind man on the corner playing his cigar-box-guitar, is the white man in expensive clothes clanging away to the crowd of millions. All sound becomes one sound, little difference between the jangling homemade and the shiny produced, all is soul, and no one is soulless.

Those who gawk lack the understanding of what the little man does, the little man, that seemingly useless thing, he does more for the soul of the earth than any douche in a Mercedes could hope to do. It's all about flow, or rhythm, or beat, hell they're the same, it's about soul, it's about life. The breath the comes from foot tapping and off-key choruses, nothing can touch that, not rust, not time, not cynicism, nothing.

As I gulp, and waste my time, I can hear it, the mastery of the slaves, the wisdom of the uneducated, those things they do are so pure, so boundless and beautiful, I wish I could join them. There is something to be said of the joy of the poor, like beasts in purity they revel in the simple, the whole, the life-giving noise of all things. Who cares if you can shred on an 8 string Stratocaster, can you feel the emotions that make galaxies turn? Can you bounce to the beating of a thousand stars? That's where the soul comes in, and gives life to metal.

There's a demon in mind, that deifies others, and berates itself, something that wishes for the noble savage, yet knows there is no savage, noble or otherwise. If a savage did exist, it would be a banner spread across the whole earth, one tongue for all people, a savage beast that rips apart art and all lovely things. There is no noble, and no savage, all are one, and yet many. The beautiful that creates all colors and noise, that thing that cannot be taught or explained.

There is only the one thing, that noise, that cry, that proclamation, the yearning, that desire, the need...There is only life for us little ones that live, only the light in defiance of the dark, only the noise in answer to the silence, only one in unity with the many.

The Drink

Wine, whine, whine

Strong drink

Water, bother, bother

Weak life

Those ancient demons

Whispering in my ear

The oldest poison

Taking away my fear

Vodka, little water

Whiskey, water of life

Beer, grain of the earth

Wine, the blood of my wife

Those old spirits

Strengthen my arms

Quicken my heart

My soul is warm

Warm yet oblivious

Dumb yet rebellious

Wise yet delirious

Brave yet anxious