@CarlosSantana #Devadip
SMOKIN’ DESPAIR IN HOLY HOLES
Haven’t been the same since all the lawyers were disbarred and I’ve got no standing in court
I can’t kneel or sit in court either, not allowed in the door, I just wait to let jail open, to be free
I got the keys but the sheriff don’t care because I’m his grandson, I didn’t do it anyway, nope
Get over it, I’m not privileged but I am innocent of the crime, somebody vented, it wasn’t me.
I play nothing, beat drums and people at video games, bring it back home to my home runs
You will never know the difference between happiness and utter despair, my daughter’s sons
My fortunate circumstance is pitched from nowhere, out of the blue, it turned purple n’ gold
In the out door and through the turnstyles of the sky’s scrapers, mighty mice and men of old.
At the ending or at the beginning, sound comes first and then the light follows the beat, tap it
Green grass cut, burned away into the clean, clear oxygen, nitrogen and hydrogen of mamas
I played game like you did but we ended it at different times, one after the other’s love flaws
Beat and blew instruments, made melodies and lyrics count for nothing but something else.
In love or out, happy or sad about the circumstances of the place in space you spend the time
It really doesn’t ever matter at all, I comprehend the blind faith and hope for a happy ending
But the truth is, happiness is either here and now in the present or it’s nowhere in the Void
Don’t believe the Truth, hope lies are true in vain, a freedom of choice, a divine hemorrhoid.
By the time you make your getaway, it won’t be a problem, it’ll just be water flowin’ over falls
As the world spins, you do too, in and out of this dynamic spin and wobble, y’all got the balls
Draw! Professors, priests and sisters have all rational thought down a cold, holy rabbit hole
Can you rob the program of magic? Nothing is magic, a faded away myth of our gods’ blows.
Punks like I used to be mature into retired civil servants on pensions, waiting for the night
Turning with the spin of the dirt, no choice until one final gasp of gas, then boom, that’s right
It’s all over at the end, no heaven or hell or purgatory or karma payment for the mortals’ sin
Just to be created and related to the offender, guilt by association, fallaciously argued, divine.
Something new, nothing old, always burning the fuel to make the power to move rocky roads
Smooth as silk with the asphalt and tar, pavement of cement, catch all my flashy flesh codes
I look, I glance, I ignore and there is nobody to take my place today or ever, on down the line
When and where’s the place and time? Rockin’ the fires, full of Word-up, a garage wall’s fine!
by
r j j stephan, i
c. June 12, 2019 A.D. @ 4:10 PM PST {always is 4:10}
{ drafted while listenin’ to Joe Walsh Daryl's House Club 48” on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/dPV6nKrhOGg }
F.I.N.I.S.
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