|
Sent me from my home From the arms of my daughter To the sands of the desert In an oasis, on my knees in the blinding red sun It’s fitting in its own damned way.
I watched stories from my chair Of liberation and freedom, Gratitude of devastation with arms wide open Like raptor with its prey Snaring sustenance with sharpened and darkened talons
And, on to the desert sands I kneel, My hands broken, my eyes swollen The smell of urine filling my nostrils As I ready to enter unto God’s kingdom, I say it’s rather fitting in its own way.
Ah, hell, I heard from my friends That heaven’s streets are paved in oil Bright and glittering as gold, Jesus wears a suit and tie, Shaving his beard and trimming his hair
And, on the desert sands I kneel My body bruised, my head aching The sun’s light bleeding over me In wretched, dry agony. It’s fitting in its own way.
We were greeted with sticks and stones Bombs and mines, guns and snarling teeth No kisses my way as believed in that lie. The lie is my last nail. This lie is my last nail. This lie is my last nail. This life is my Last nail
And, on the desert sands I kneel My head burning, My eyes stinging In wanton disbelief It’s somewhat fitting in its own way
On the desert sands I cry My knees melting My body quivering In searing belief. It’s not fitting in its way.
On the desert sands, I fall Cold steel against my head Smoking powder my last smell It’s not fucking fitting in its way.
|