It's starting to taste like
ash in here;
it's starting to sting
like dragon tears--
oh no, that's the wrong
when taste is subjective
but opinions are free. Yes?

Or no, it depends on the
it depends on the rythm
depends on the race
which is wrong:
I can't say that
my skin is too white like
my head is too straight so
my heart must be tight. Closed
off, and I cannot go out here
at night, with a cross. I am not quite
ashamed of my country--

but the folks, yeah.
There must be worse out there
than you, them or me
(can't think of any)
but my train of thought's
gone runaway. Like Christ if he
the cross and just walked away.
Love is blind, and good thing
if you still believe that
bible bunk.

So half of the people are geared
for war, while the rest start
no more, no more. But cut
the funding and they start to scream:

Make up your mind.

Somebody's really got to take
the burn, until the rest of us suckers
finally learn to learn.
So the lynch
rope stretches and the fire's stoked,
so the ash starts falling and the
poor man chokes
down here, in the belly of the
alchemic beast; head
swallowing tail and tail clotting
the teeth. What rot
but it tastes like tears or dust.

The opinion is free.
But it's costing us.

AKL 2005