The oracles were false, misleading
The crown has fallen from our heads
Baby, I got the hard time killing floor blues
My sins have been bound into a yoke;
they have come upon my neck
In iron lung, and skull balloon, oxygen, like sorrow,
in the brain of the willing villain, of the reluctant hero,
death whispers, come-go little sorrows, come-go little joys,
when comes the Glad Day, golden girls and boys,
the zillion vanities of vanities, blown to zero!
golden dreams like lies, bad air and history,
how fares the world good people? Our prophets, too pissed to pee,
angels, are ye somewhere standing in the majestic mystery?
Chattering on helium, forgetting to breathe, I beg, bugger, borrow,
and still the wind's whistling lilli bul lero
don't know how it goes, what it means, don't know what I think,
whatever Revolution my head had — a little wind, a mighty stink.
© Larry Nightingale