The Hybrid

Led unto the gentle scent
which most disturbs my nature.
Underneath the skin,
a moon-tide of patterns,
where even faith
cannot dissuade
the restless,
primitive cabal
of creatures, and their
abominations;
senseless to good or evil,
led only by the drive
of instinct,
and the determination
that there is
so much more to this place
than what imaginary lines
as the soul may construct
to save itself
from such an imperfect world.

Little poet,
trying to keep his room
all white,
for the daily spoken rosaries
of what must be wrong,
and what must be kept aright.
Words that make you smile.
Words that make you fear.
The worst of all are the words
that give you hope
for something that has never been.

Catch me baby,
I am crashing through the floor.
You've got to keep me wrapped up tight,
because I am pretty sure I've got that
Jesus don't love us no more blues.
Don't tap the pipes for some holy water,
because I am afraid that I might disappear.
They say that the Devil wears combat boots,
but have you ever really seen anything
change without them?
It's change or die out there baby,
change or die.

Hey Little School-Girl,
with the bullet in your skull.
Can you hear me?
Hear's the thing that I cannot get
out of my heart.
I mean, we've got the same fucking enemies
out there,
though we've never actually met.
Me? I grabbed a gun, and chose a side.
But you snatched a hold
of the conscience of the world...

Rest baby, get some rest.
But come back when you can.
I think I still need you to show me
what it feels like to be human again.

The bullet came from out of nowhere,
kicking up the sand and dust at my feet.
Nothing quite makes you wonder
if the world really needs you,
as nearly catching a fatal dose of nevermore.

Let it howl. Let it rage.
Paint the carpet red,
because I am coming in.
No matter how many times you try to kill me,
I'll just keep coming back at you.

Hate me today,
hate me tomorrow...
No matter how many times I try to kill it,
it just keeps coming back at me.

Punch the drums
on the pain drive,
as home is still some place
that I have never been
down along the soul-slide
reminiscence of memories
that are not my own.
It's just like another funeral
for a friend

As I ride out hard and lean
on the back of my America,
catching the wind
and romancing the road
with a driving hope
that there is something,
somewhere along the lane
that makes this long, hard ride
worth the run.

Civilization is a religion baby.
You've got to believe in it
for it to actually work.
Perhaps tomorrow, I will be born again.
For tonight, give the wilderness
and a riverside to lay down beside.
Maybe the little poet will fill
my head and heart with dreams
and prayers again...

Or maybe I will just lay me down to sleep.