| A head, wisdom And a bed Troubled decree Resident mockery has claimed thee We used to believe In the good old days We still receive In little ways The Things of Kindness An unsporting brow Forget and allow Did you know freedom exists in a school book Did you know madmen are roaming our prison within a jail, within a gaol within a white free protestant maelstrom We're perched headlong on the edge of boredom We're reaching for death on the end of a candle We're trying for something That's already found us We can invent kingdoms of our own grand purple thrones, those chairs of lust and love we must, in beds or rust Steel doors lock in prisoner's screams and muzak, AM, rocks their dreams No black men's pride to hoist the beams while mocking angels sift what seems To be a collage of magazine dust Scratched on foreheads of walls and trust This is jail for those who must get up in the morning and fight for such unusable standards while weeping maidens show-off penury and pout ravings for a mad staff Wow, I'm sick of doubt Live in the light of certain South Cruel bindings The servants have the power dog-men and their mean women pulling poor blankets over our sailors (And where you in our lean hour Milking your moustache or grinding a flower?) I'm sick of dour faces Staring at me from the TV Tower, I want roses in my garden bower; dig? Royal babies, rubies must now replace aborted Strangers in the mud These mutants, blood meal |