(for Tom Pickard)
Old time blues
and things to say –
not going home
till they come to get me.
See the sky
black as night,
drink what’s
there to drink.
God’s dead,
men take over,
world’s round,
all over.
Think of it,
all those years,
no one’s the wiser
even older
Flesh, flesh
Screams in body,
you know,
go to sleep.
Got to eat, baby,
go to.
No way
you won’t.
When I lay down
big bed
going to pillow
my slleping head.
When I fall.
I fall,
straight down
deep I’m going.
No one
touch me
with
their doubting mind.
You don’t
love me
like you
said you do, you
don't to me
like you
said
you would.
What I say
to people
don’t mean
I don’t love,
what I
do don’t
do, don’t don’t
do enough.
Think I drink
this little glass,
sit on my ass,
think about
life, all
those things,
substance.
I could touch you.
Times in jail
I was scared
not of being hurt
but that people lock you up,
what’s got to be
cruel is you know,
and i don’t, you say
you got the truth.
I wouldn’t listen
if I was drunk, couldn’t hear
if I was stoned,
you tell me right or don’t.
Come on home, brother,
you make a fool,
get in trouble, end up
in jail.
I’m in the jailhouse now.
When they lock the door,
how long is what
you think of.
Believe in what’s there,
nowhere else it will be.
They kill you,
they kill me.
Both dead,
we’ll rise again.
They believe in Christ,
they’ll believe in men.