The Devil Rests In Blades Of Grass

These broken prayers like paper hearts
leave skeletons in the field
And my eyes no longer pierce the night
of my rusted Ritalin shield

The devil rests on laurels taught
with long-guns, blades and steel
Shattered glass and paper planes
are crushed beneath the wheel

From chambers wrought with broken eyes
of those who cherish the flood
Where black robed ghosts are often heard
making offers of venison blood

The devil rests in sheaves tonight
with Quinine, smoke and brass
Arrowheads and copper nails
between the blades of grass

Through fields tilled with the tools of war
planting the seeds of doubt
Over crops of prose and beating hearts
hear the harvest master shout

The devil rests on needles laced
with Cyanide, bleach and gin
Aerosols and riot squads
our new-found need for sin