My baby’s the kind of sex
I don’t have to get elsewhere
To her I run and I hide
Inside every desire to me
My baby’s the art of performance
She’s a changing rhythm, time
And I’m right in it
Leading the orchestration
My baby’s the whispering winds
Coming to me at all angles
In the evening hours she whispers
In the daylight hours she screams
The Eagle flies with me tonight
Around tall lean trees
The anger of cold winds
Flexing thunder in eyes of darkness
With whispers lightly tossed with Zeus’s talons
And I – with my cry – let fall great prey
Great beasts of ancient lineage
Who scream loud
When I soar near
I am gliding through torrents tonight
With the Eagle by my side
I’ve pasted time all over these bedroom walls
Dripping with a thought that’s never passed
In spite my insistence on back pushing
Mind-swapping, and counter-imagining
Some days I can even see the portraits
I painted in monotone upon the walls
Thick eyebrows and pencil thin noses
Some of them scream out at me
The others look out distractedly
Lost in deep thoughts I’ve long since forgotten
I pass everything off on my walls
They repeat after me
Reverberating my madness until it’s real
You sit there and wonder why I’ve changed
I’ve smelt the blood spilt of 6 million
I’ve watched the children scream alone
Searching in the daylight for eyes they cannot see
Holding hands with the pitiless marching them dead
Into the future they’ll never dream
I’ve crawled through the floors
Of ancient deathbeds
Smelling the descent of mankind
As it rummages through supremacy
Cracking along the edges of the wooden walls
Showing through in peeled paint
And barb-wired fences erected in blood
Rotting carcases of un-guilty men
Where we believe, for just a smiling minute
That the changes we make in our recycling program
Will resurrect those peace signs and red crosses
Will help the children smile louder
In piles in the corner stopping bullets with plastic
Who wins at this game?
Smile, we cannot run