Hang Low, Hang Tight

The Dive at Joes
Dimly lit and smelling of piss
I pull the stool to cushion the blow

Give it to me straight
Tell me tall tales
So I can see, as I tip my hat down

A place for the lost
The used ups and washed outs
Grit and stench, accepted

Pressing the filter between bitter lips
Lighting something other than life
Filtering days
Lost in smoke
Drowning in smooth
Tomorrow is doable

If this were sad, it'd be goodbye
If this were joy, it'd be hello
It just is, how's the wife and kids?

Injection

Needs for needles
And the self-sustaining peoples
Masses gathered under empty steeples

Thoughts from the thoughtless
And the self-serving process
Begging the fictitious for easy fixes

Trading hours for false powers
Ignoring the ignorance
Tit feeding from the slit throat
Bleeding

Your façade is breaking
With every deep breath they’re taking
Throwing the book back at you
Grabbing their lives
No longer faking

Losing the lost
And the self-shadowed cross
Emptied pews from the double-crossed

Facing the frowns
And the smiles with broken crowns
Only one way to go from down

Saving dollars for scholars
Collared, not followed
The free-formed thinkers, hollowed
Filling

Your palace is crumbling
With every step, they’re fumbling
Picking themselves up
Mapping their path
No longer humbling.