The Damn

Enough soul and spit to hang a noose on
I call bullshit on your revolution
I’m your corporate daddy; raise up the missiles
And tap your clips and pump your pistols

Fold your flag; feel the sting of sorrow
Up high I’ll sing like there’s no tomorrow
My fingers snap like lightning cracks
Your boys fall back in gaseous masks

The grand illusion; the words and stage
Unholy union of lurch and sage
The idiots come with listless rage
There’s no turning back this burning page

A muse’s forlorn bitter bread
She eats their work, she’s unimpressed
I made her dead, a hearse, they said
An empty cave inside her head

A bastard’s city all bent and sick
Monument face of a lunatic
I am the blood, I am the bone
A bomb, a head for a metronome