I know I'll always miss you
your father I know will too,
I realize it was your time to leave
yet I will always grieve
I'll remember your cute little nose
and your adorable little toes
I only got to hold you after you were gone
I don't know how long this grief is gonna go on
I wish I could hold you now
but I know that is not allowed
I've been thinking of you constantly
thinking of when I let you go free
it's torn my heart into shreds
even when I was on meds
I miss and love you oh so much
and crave your baby touch

Dusk brings the chill of mystery, the darkness of tranquil thought
The moment of harmony waited upon by the troubled
In an instant, the universal hourglass is shattered
It's hold broken by the pleasure of survival
In a world between transcendence and collapse.
Technology shows that it has no conscience
By illuminating our disasters through the night
Our collective gaze drifts to the sky
Drawn to the moon, the lone rebel against our being
Silently protesting with it's invasive stare.
Honest thought and true wishes fill the cold air
A swarm of purity invisible to all perception
Immune to the sabotage of the fallen
Telling reality what it should be
Even though it never listens.

One gigantic waste machine chews up the land,
Chews up human beings into moonscape,
Plowing all the atoms into ethereal distortions
Of one long violent scream of man against man,
And man against nature, and man
Against nature's God.
Sin plagues the land.
That madness begun by Lucifer continues:
Cains and Lamechs and Nimrods bragging
Amid pools of blood and in the darkened streets,
Setting up their idols and on the plains
Again and again into ruins on top
Of ruins on top of ruins.
Sin plagues the land.

The ancient rebellion of man to become
His own god, to know all things apart
From the Creator, goes on,
Where men cry out, "We can get back
To the garden without God."
Sin plagues the land.
Where honest, decent fellows
Are dragged off to lose the "no-win" wars,
And really "good" causes become enmeshed
In UN delegations and rich senators for hire,

And lies roar out of the Gulf of Tonkin
Tsunami-like and explode into a thousand medals
And into long rows of graves.
The sand bags sprout like locusts
In the streets of 'ol Kuwait and up to Tikrit,
While lies flow back and forth from
The capitals in the night.

History writes its story on the dust of our dead sons.
They make a movie of it and we watch it just for fun.

The moonshades underneath the waters skin
Refract and flow in the current, hiding
the shadow remains below the rocks.
The soaked dust is dancing with the moon.
Dancing with the remains
of what used to be
my reflection.

If it were possible to exemplify the difference between tears
of joy and tears of pain. If scars could be replaced with
kisses, and a new beginning could replace all of the bitterness.
If selfishness could be replaced with love, and bad behavior
replaced by a mere contentment with just being alive, or
anything but death. If a teardrop of beauty could sweeten an
entire black sea of disillusionment, and our earthly desires
could possibly step aside for a moment and marvel at our simple
freedoms...I could go on but ah, fuck it. It's just wishful
thinking.