Dark Day Afternoon

Doomsday just inched a bit closer

So says the clock on the wall

Amused, nihilistic humans   

just waiting for mankind to fall!


We know the problem’s we’re facing

We know what needs to be done

We know that the weapon is loaded

but we like the taste of the gun


We’re ninety seconds from doomsday

So says that guy on the news

“It’s the end of the world as we know it”

A theme song to give us the blues


Doomsday just inched a bit closer

it nuzzles up to the fear in our head

The tick of the clock getting louder

It thickens our fear into dread


Religious to the point of destruction

Tribal to our own self-defeat

Chained to a blood-violent nature

Man and doomsday were destined to meet

When Sorrow Clings to Angel Wings


She made it through the Spanish flu
a million others died
but slipped and fell with scissors held
Oh, how her parents cried


Rorschach’s plume, still in bloom
soaks through her dressing gown
she raps on heaven’s pearly gate
but no one is around


When sorrow clings to angel wings
They might-as-well be clipped
So back to earth
To haunt the house
Where she tripped and slipped


Immortal klutz with lots of cuts
dark shadows on the wall
she roams the house without a spouse
wrapped loosely in her shawl

An Ugly Lust for Power

Floating in his own orbit

absent from the ethos of ethics

he was driven by an ugly lust for power

fueled by an insatiable desire for attention

bootlicked and buttressed by a sycophantic public

and buoyed by yes men


The man was wholly unhinged from truth

divorced from morality

and devoid of integrity


Gripped by insecurity

and the crippling fear of being labeled a loser

he cultivated lies and deceit


Like a Shakespearean witch

hunched over a cauldron

of poisonous misinformation

he hatched his plan

to cling to the reins of power

just long enough to topple the republic


For a few hours that day

our democracy flickered and dimmed

teetering on the dark edge of an authoritarian abyss


and if not for the courage of a few

and the rationality of the rest

We’d have lost our democracy

and the hope and freedom it brings to us


It would be a fatal mistake to think

the bullet we dodged cannot be reloaded

The confederacy of cowards

who defended the snake

and helped perpetuate the crime

still walk the halls of congress

and just beneath the ashes

of the failed attempt

are the smoldering embers

of the next

Crackling Fires from Funeral Pyres

Digging holes with metal poles

Earth hanging by a string

ember coals and smokey souls

our hearts refuse to sing


Nostril flares and double dares

blood coursing through our veins

no one cares or fires flares

to save us from the flames


Rubber necks on splintered decks

missiles pierce the sky

the crackling fires from funeral pyres

sparkle in our eyes


Mascara streaks on dampened cheeks

as quiet fills the air

we crawl across a floor that creaks

to waken our despair


Stars explode and fade to black

the darkened sky above

stretches far from east to west

obscuring peace and love

Slip Knot Future Up Ahead

Mascara streaks

on expressionless faces

punk-metal fills the air

a swarm of pierced humanity

hits the mosh without a care


Rabbit holes of red-hot coals

their world spinning on a string

empty souls dance to Dave Grohl

life to them, a fling


Rubber necks on double decks

Russian missiles fill the skies

distant fires from funeral pyres

the flames flicker in their eyes


Tattered seams on crocheted dreams

slip knot future up ahead

poisoned streams and noiseless memes

They’ll dance until their dead

Fodder for Felons

Mar-a-Lago’s a henhouse

guarded by foxes

with top secret files

in taped cardboard boxes

Classified docs

spread all over the floor

fodder for felons

trying to even the score


Millions of lost souls

and Q-cultist bigots

they lap up the lies

from electronic spigots

Looking for purpose

while grasping at straws

praising their savior

despite all his flaws


Empty of knowledge

full of deep longing

Q fits the bill

and their need for belonging


Fingers raised up

they sing and they sway

“The storm is-a-coming”

and so’s judgement day


Engaged in a story

which casts them as heroes

too dumbstruck to know

that they’re dancing to Nero

drinking the Kool-Aid

they’re dope-sick on Q

freebasing lies

and shouting fuck you


There’s fear in not knowing

how this will end

how far Q is going

to strongly defend

the lies of a con man

unwilling to bend

Rise Up

Don’t you ever get so tired

of all the bullshit in the air


Politicians always wired

pretending that they care


Don’t you long to get inspired

get this train back on the track


Aren’t you sick of being mired

in never forward always back


We’re in need of revolution

a youth-led promise towards a day

when our leaders represent us

without their interests in the way


Aren’t you tired of being berated

your world twisting on a string

all the truths interrogated

while the lies go on to sing


Band together to form your power

march into the voting booth

Turn the day into your hour

cut down the lies and raise the truth

What Shining City?

When did it become Ok

In America

for snickering governors

to play politics

with the lives of tired

and desperate human beings?


When did the light

from that shining city

on the hill

become a trick candle?


When did America

erect its Darwinian dome

of indifference towards

the tired and the suffering?


When did we drift from the

Give me your tired and poor

to a cold and callous

Let me show you the door?


When did we

start to fear and hate

the huddled masses

detesting them

while casting a cold

and stony shoulder?


When the humane

treatment of others

takes a backseat to

cheap political stunts

it’s time to look at

the soul of our nation

Tangled up in Black

In the alleys of your heart

In the backstreets of your brain

from the constant buzzing beltway

under rusted lock and chain


In the pain inside your sternum

the boiled marrow in your bones

lurks an ever-growing darkness

over jagged rocks and stones


In dark valleys of depression

and the not so grand delusions

In a vice grip of obsession

In your manic-plagued illusions


With a never-ending stipend

of more than you can bear

an abundant over-ripened

softened fruit

of deep despair


An undefined sad solitude

that something is amiss

always on that taunting edge

of a welcoming abyss


an open-ended sadness

a journey never-ending

exhausted by the battle plan

of constantly pretending


You’re looking for an exit

a respite from the black

An offramp from the sadness

a train that jumps the track


“I can’t believe he did it

I can’t believe he’s gone

no one truly knew

the darkness of his dawn”

Our March Towards the Gallows

Silhouettes and shadows

blurred pictures on the wall

we stumble towards the gallows

our walks turn into crawls

People start to gather

they’re screaming at the sun

hollow eyes and sunken cheeks

blinded, crippled, stunned

Cracked and hardened landscapes

fires all around

sunbaked souls

are full of holes

no water in the ground

Empty silos bellow

a sorrow fills the air

we turn to face our fellow man

and find that he’s not there

Trees that beg for water

dead branches in a field

a loss of social order

our weakened faith revealed

The warning signs were present

we looked the other way

as climate climbs

and mankind falls

what else is there to say?

Souls too weak to whisper

our words fold into prayer

the dead feed off the living

and dust becomes the air