Waiting To Be Processed

From the Lifesmith Group album, "Pablum."

The sagging sentinel of solemnity saunters up with a sneer
And demands from me a twenty for croissants and imported beer
Homeless and ever dirty, he sickens me with distrust
I gladly hand him my bankbook, my guilt’s an elephant’s truss.

A grimy welfare mother of four with no business in my world
Sacrificed her peasant’s freedom when her legs became unfurled
Curses at me such venom as to make a black widow blush
It’s easy to see without looking too far that evolution’s in no rush.

A Dagon worshipper with golden chains grunts at me out of spite
And yells at me his hardships while he plays with dynamite
Blaming everyone but himself and mom for his apparent dispossession
My hand dips into my pocket awaiting some bit lip-serviced confession.

The mealy mouthed diplomat of the boulevard grabs me in the crotch
And squeezes me until I scream, I trespassed on his watch
Blinded by a dream he had of a demon who sings in the choir
He laughs at me a cruel jest, my redemption’s his desire.

The bloodletting hypocrite slithers over in his dark mock leather shoes
And angrily requests his forms of me, banks on my fear to lose
A Pentium-driven myrmidon in his twelve dollar Gucci coat
Pleads with me on greedy knees to bear his cross to vote.

Some underachieving bishop of sport bounces his soul to me unhinged
Drafts me into a lustful game of eviscerated angst too singed
Distastefully grants me unintended license to steal his microscopic brain
I sterilize my phantom forceps in a cataclysmic cathedral rain.

Some self-styled barker in time preaches the crowds asleep
Trolling tall tales of actual hope while I uncontrollably weep
Calling me out from a psychic slumber, run half-cocked for a time
I outlast his bluster and act out my triumph in steamy pantomime.