“Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?”
- William Blake
Waiting for the future to come last week
At the motel I stayed at down the street,
I wrapped my body in a sheet
And followed from Eden into the east.
The flags were red, white, and blue.
I felt dishonor in each breath I drew
And from the way they held them high –
I’ll cringe if they touch the sky.
Upon the top of one pole so gold
Sat a crow, perched there bold;
His shape lingered, framed in sky,
As I stared deep in his deadly eyes.
I heard my voice beg that crow
To eat the body but spit the soul.
I felt like Christ out by the road,
A scarecrow out by the road.
By the visions I’ve had but haven’t owned
During my nights living here alone,
I sang for the fire and all the grease
All the way from Eden into the east.
I sang this hymn for my quiet God;
I sang for humility in dreams of Nod.
I played for what seemed so long;
I sang loudly, but the notes were wrong.
‘Cause they shot down Kenny. They raped Jane.
They’ve marked her body, they’ve pissed the name.
And from our footsteps grew garlic by rain,
From our footsteps grew garlic by rain.
The moon is filling with deep, red blood.
The night sky is caked with tar and mud.
And their voices, dieing, just roll on.
There’s change coming, coming strong.
The moon is filled with bloody light.
Our hearts are filled with bloody light.
Oh, these colors I see, red on white,
Are blood on the lamb’s coat of light.
The painted tigers defaced the planes,
Snarling down a bulleting rain;
They tore through bodies in the heat.
I cried for the Lambs dead on the street.