Perhaps I missed the heart of it while passing.
Can I laugh again, remembering where I've been?
Words of wisdom shrivel up and die
And prayer is just pissing in the wind.
The compass points are blunt. That makes me blameless
Unable to prevent, too thoughtless to intend.
We live in a field of ashes, melted spires
Dead words, dead cities, glowing in the wind.
Honorifics-expressions of respect-great titles
Are really so much dissing in the end.
Tell me, Halcyon, what losers need to learn:
He wanders the house at random
in the early morning light
calling for heaven to witness
his misery, his anguish, his plight.
Young girls hurry to comfort
his woe in the usual way
he strokes them and sings of his sorrow
day after day after day.
The garden ripens untended
baked beans rot on the stove
real tears stream from his eyes
and he weeps for his lost lost love.