| Wilderness Trapped in a village of midgets & pigeons These captive, frantic birds circle our faces, Trapped like slaves in midget-made places. And I feel the same as the birds without sun, Made by midgets in their alien world of careless fun. The same as my father in the sky with a white dress. He can not change his arrogant eyes or idle hands, So let his midgets & pigeons begin their dance. Sitting in feathers, surrounded by their dirty mess, As my soul pours out of the hole in my chest. With dots in my thoughts & blood in my hair, My father looks at the stars & begins to pray To his father above, in a sky so bleak & gray. I just stand below & quietly stare At their feeble irony & the dresses they wear. The midgets & pigeons are to blame for our father's pain, Because their ignorant myths have no place in heart... For this spiritual revolution is destined to start... Denying their laws & their theological stain... Changing my once pure soul into a shallow brain. |