Infused By Figment Fire
my flesh is filled and fraught with foul disease;
offensive is my life to mine own eyes
who sees me sail life's clear and cloudy seas
where faith fills up or empties out our lies.
now here I stand a broke and beaten man
whose love of life laments obscurity
but in the end ambition's naive plan
reached in and stole my soul's integrity.
I am but one who's never been an us:
no flesh - no blood - no break of fast to feed;
a lustful trust once wrapped in omnibus,
ground down and made a graven slave to need.
disgusted as those degradation days
laid waste upon the taste of indiscreet;
my soul a hole of black and blacker ways
confronts chronicity of incomplete.
there is no way to spread the dreaded blame;
excused are those accused or left behind.
I do so love to play the changing game
in every little corner of my mind.
I've traveled every twisted rut and road
that zigs and zags across my mottled map
and every road became an endless load
and every stop became the same old trap.
I've tasted magic mushroom's mellow cure
alongside mystic natives in Peru;
made love in huts to ladies quite unsure
as glitter ghosts played rock and roll kazoo.
I've sat inside the sacred Shaman ring
where apparitions dervish-dance around
but what the Shaman brought I could not bring -
my last was lost - my first was never found.
I'm jonesin' in the center of a city
while waiting on some powdered China-white.
I pray the man can deal a bit of pity
or sick I'm bound to be throughout this night.
I think I see my hero now a-comin'
like a pimp he's dressed in tapered leather
tripping proud with lanky strides and hummin'
tunes he writes but cannot keep together.
I'm watchin' death come walkin' straight at me
and I don't think or blink a cautious eye
but hand the Ferryman Charon his fee,
relieved to leave without a shout "goodbye."
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