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wrap it up and weight it
with pieces of masonary
From the dirty old wall
That runs next to the pub
Where my father used to drink
Before I killed him
When he was dreaming
When I was still in limbo
Still in dreamland.
I bit off each of his fingers
Right down to the palm of his hand
I cut open the chest
Of a dead raven I found
Stuffed a handful of daddy inside
And it came to life
An explosion of screeches
That terrified me
And it flew right for him
And pecked out his eye's
Silly dumb fuck
He couldnt fight back
He only had bloody little stumps for hands
And he was dead drunk
Poor silly fuck
He couldnt see
Where he was going
And he ran in front of a truck
They had to scrape his body
Off the road and tyres
With an old man's shovel
Oh, he'll never be able to clear
The snow from his driveway
And not think of it
Again.
This is a very slightly rewritten part of a poem I wrote a few months ago, I hope that that doesnt break the rules!
I guess it is obvious what emotion I am feeling in here!
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"Do not tell lies, and do not do what you hate,
for all things are plain in the sight of Heaven. For nothing
hidden will not become manifest, and nothing covered will remain
without being uncovered."
The Gospel of Thomas
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