May Their Caves Have Light!

2017-2018 by Michael Aitken.  

There’s a cherry tree by the surgery

Poem about how blind we can be

There’s a cherry tree by the surgery
Its crushed cherries on the pavement floor
A sweet cherry red smashed in the street
A red massacre of dark balloon juice
Mashed and crushed beneath our feet

There’s cherry red anger outside the surgery,
Bleeding on the bone of paving stone
A dry stained sludge of red cherry juice
Poor people tread them down with disdain
Into the concrete with worsening pain.

There’s a cherry tree growing outside the surgery
Where clusters of cherries queue for cures,
Hunched over, scurrying; scowling and worrying
Indifferent to anyone’s pain but their own
A sluice of red juice by the surgery door.

I go through the door

Poem about love and loss

I go through the door, there’s a desert for miles around
I pick up the phone and I call you.
I’ve so many things I want to say; If you won’t listen
I’ll try another day.

I go thru the door, there’s a desert for miles around
I pick up the phone and I call you.
I’m alone in the call box, the heat is pressing down
I dial your number slowly; the numbers go clicking round.

It’s all I’ve ever wanted, some love before I die

About being a reject

The chances now are slim; there never was much hope
A little taste would do it but I’m on the slippery slope.
I hope for something big, I hope for something small
I want a winning ticket; I want nothing at all.

My chances now are slim; my connections have gone dead
A lot of what I’m hoping for’s a dream inside my head
A bit would keep me going, would help me to get by
It’s all I’ve ever wanted, some love before I die.

She’s carrying a mirror set in gold

About a disagreement between lovers

She’s carrying a heavy mirror
set in gold
I’m carrying some small print
vaguely threatening.
I break her mirror;
I try to repair it with my eyes
She steals my small print
then she tries to blackmail me.

She throws a hook of claws
Dripping in jealousy
from her dark closet
Then timidly in a whisper
She tries to evacuate
from the theatre in my head.

I followed Peace through the Streets

Poem about peace

I follow Peace through the streets
She wore a long gown and carried a torch.
I followed Peace over the course of a lifetime
I saw how her white gown became bloodstained and torn.

I remember how she moved with vigour and youth
I see how she is now – she is weary and shattered
And in the wooden handcart, she pulls along
The bodies of the dead – lying in peace.


About parents who never seem to be there

After you were born, your parents became butterflies
This is the fate of all parents – to flutter away and leave their offspring.
Do you recall how beautiful their wings were?
But before you even began to cry – they had flown out the window.

Satisfied with their summer liaison, on bright summer wings of laughter;
With only a few days to live, they played games in the summer sun.

This is the beginning of a great lie

The second death of the bible

This is the beginning of a great lie – that you cannot die a second death.
To die once is a horrifying certainty
To put your money on the black market in the game we play;
Is to hate the lover and love the liar and to die a second death.

Nerve Agent

How do such tiny little things like spiders frighten us so much

Detected by her pheromones; the spider turns to stare
Watchful with her seven eyes, now, I get too near.
The sudden chill like nerve gas, coldness in the heart
The spider has made contact – and tells me to depart.

The revolution never came

The failures of humanity

The revolution never came, peace never came
The big tree trunk of history blocked the light;
It was attacked with plastic knives by people demanding change
And felled by falling fruit. And the knowledge base
That we trusted our lives with -was edited by aphids.


In defence of words

You have no respect for words,
You may as well be an animal.
The dog comes when it is called,
You just froth at the cranium.

You have no respect for words,
You rip out your own vocal-chords.
Your disrespect for the wonder of words
Poisons the whole human herd.

My friends are my thoughts


My friends are my thoughts; they appear as if by magic;
Once as a child, I had one thought that tried to die
It raced around my skull like in a wall of death,
I tried to catch it; it made a stifled scream, a flock
Of sleeping birds scattered into the heart of the night

Society has been flooded

About death

Society has been flooded occasionally a body
in a brightly coloured dress bobs to the surface
It is dragged down by the current to where
they harvest the dead in a great powerhouse
with four chimneys, escalators, and gift shops
where the ones truly dead never go.

The trawlerman

About how if you agree with them you can rise to the top

The trawlerman pulls in his net,
inside the dead are gasping for air.
On a conveyor belt in a factory
the ones worth keeping are taken out
to stroll around the board room
polishing their fins and feasting on tins of sprat.

When I try to speak the truth

How to lose friends and upset people

When I try to speak the truth, the conversation stops
it vacates the lake of thoughts like a great three-in-one migrating bird
made of leather and tar, with frightened cats’ eyes!

They stake me out in the sand
I’m not supposed to get free or ask for water.
the ten-headed dinosaur looms over the hill
eager to save its spiteful babied spawn.


Fu Man Chu lived here

In the house of lime, in Limehouse
The tiles and foetal stones of a dark time
Dug up from the field of lime.

In the house of lime
Time is undermined and brine is under time.
In the lake of lime
Under the house of lime, the poor died for the crime of being poor.

And in the lake that burns in lime
the dead are in line under the house of lime.
In the house of lime are blasphemies and thieves and treasure from the seas.
And on the fields of lime are fires that burn for all time
As time also burns in lime.

In the burning fire of the house of lime
You’ll find an immortal sign of the dead who burn in the house of lime.
And the industry of the house of lime
Is to keep the fires burning all the time in the dark mine in the field of lime.

How big is the universe?

I am quite sure that the universe exists in nothingness

How big is the universe? It’s as big as nothing.
It’s been nothing for a long non-time
– Eternity is nothing.

There’s a big red button like a big red sun
Like a big red traffic sign; like a big red table in my living room
The Milky Way could be a recording machine.
Every little noise ever made can be played back,
You can watch the galaxy spinning at 45rpm.

Into this creation was carefully placed
(Laid out like the dew upon a spider’s web
With a generosity, that has no limit)
A love that has no parameters.

You’re in the garden

About hypocrisy and lies

You’re in the garden –  and this is a dream
of what would happen in the garden.
How the big four religions cover the ground
with blood, death and fire.

How the tree of life was cut down for lumber;
How the tree of knowledge died and toppled over engulfed in flames of war
And of how above the garden the angel of death
Put down his sword and went home

When the pain reaches its solid-state

About how you can be in so much pain and yet be invisible

When the pain reaches its solid-state
and the doorkeeper etches into it
insults, denials and blame
and you fall from what little you cling to.

When pain spreads past fire and screams
and all good people condemn you
and throw you into the wolf pack wind
where each breath is a dancing devil.

And you wonder how inhuman the human race can be
living below in velvet and lace
where everything is made of cow’s milk
and those who suffer are exiled as a disease.

A river of trauma

Once you are traumatised when does it end

Life on traumas edge, life on a river of trauma
Trauma covers the eyes like an executioner’s blindfold
It was an unexpected evil in a world already mad
It was the thoughtless murder in a murderer’s world

Attached to you as handles nailed to a burning bucket
It moves like breath but it feels like death
Has prepared a black sort of wisdom covered in a dust sheet
Leaving you abandoned in the middle of a busy city

It is the aggressive frost after a cold starlit night
When your heart becomes as nothing alive
And scream and cry as much as you can
The wall of trauma is as a hood tied over you.

Greetings comrade

About feeling that no one listens

Greetings Comrade, May you be blessed under the party rule.
although I live in poverty, although
I have lost all my relatives to the wild beast of the woods I ask a favour –
I know your life is hard; I know your life is without youth.
I know how you age quickly; I know how hard you slave.

I stood by the river of translucent water
everybody loved the river of the house of life
But your river is muddy, it flows past a dungeon
the ground is polluted by blood and the sea is crying.

Since I am no longer respected; since I am a burden on our system
Since I am no longer. . .
I ask a favour, the one favour only the dead can ask
if they could speak, face to face, bound to you by the truth
carrying a basket of love and the life that dances like swirls of air
I ask you to go back to who you were before
to remember that you too were dead like me buried in the ground of this world.

But from out of where you lay a tree began to grow for you
better than a tombstone; better than a bouquet
better than a statue; better than an epitaph.
All these and more, much more it grew and bore you like fruit.
But you ran from your parent tree
But now remember that I asked you for a favour

The white snowy people

About white snowy people

The white snowy people laugh at you
You are a column of flame in their snow world
The sweetness of their snowy skin covers an ancient ice

The white snowy people pass you by, riding on bright white cats
Dragging your crucifix through the deep snow
The black night throbs like a communal drum

The white snowy people their faces fill the windows
Dragging another corpse down the side street
You can hear the many jokes, the fracas of their party tricks

The white snowy people who build the walls of cities
After fencing off sections of land
They fly like cold icy meteorites into the Garden of Eden

Cities –

Cities are such wonderful things, aren’t they?

People are building cities, some of them are nice
Some of them are pretty, some have streets of ice
Some are science fiction with spaceships in the sky
Some are now infernos where wicked people die

Some are cleaned by cleaners pushing blooming brooms
Some are buried in the sand that covers over tombs
Some rise high like mountains like platforms in the sky
Some have caved in and crumbled and are made of dust so dry

One is like ancient Babylon that returns back from the ground
One is like Jerusalem that is too high to be found
The shelf life of the city, every city has one.
They reach a climax in their existence when need outstrips resources.
War abroad, civil war at home, famine and plague are not the complete cause
It’s when people simply forget that their city ever existed, impossible but true.


The city is covered in pins and needles that shine in the street lights
People’s heads are like needles heads that have holes.
In the rush hour, they are magnetized and they stick together in clumps
Some are wedged into corners; some are crammed into tubes.

But look at the night sky, a great place of growth
With dignity, grandeur and power that shines triumphantly.
If only the One who organized the people of heaven would organize men.

This city could be in a child’s painting
that hangs in a mental hospital
made of magic circles and black pyramids.
The London clay – for men to make pots from
The London clay – for God to make pots of men.
It is the body of the London poor
That the passage of time will turn into iron
Above the clay layers, a bird sings in a London park
And the Crown was once a great forest unknown to man.

I hope you won’t mind

A cup of tea anyone?

You don’t go out at night; you stay in here with me
You don’t get into a fight – over your territory.
All these things a cat does, and much more, it’s true
I hope you won’t mind then if I swap the cat for you.

The cat is only interested in what it gets for free
You, on the other hand, can make a pot of tea.
The cat she gets restless and leaves me days on end
You are more responsible and always stay around.

Now has come the time when nothing else will do
I hope you won’t mind then if I swap the cat for you
You’re better than cat’s fur in my arms
The cat has none of your charms
To the fussing and the purring, I say – shoo cat shoo
Since I started thinking, to swap the cat for you.
Beneath your dress, there is a cat’s fur;
It’s strange how you curl up into a ball.
At first, I thought of you like a princess
Who lost her place in a Dickensian epic.
The cat started out on tinned meat food
The more famous she got the better her food became
Until – demand outstripped supply
And down she fell into the gutter full of contempt and spite

Love in an overcoat

Shouldn’t love make you feel warm?

Love in an overcoat of leaves, of star signs
of road signs, in a hat like an orange cone, of brass horseshoes
of brass crucifixes, of silver chains and iron crosses.

Love in an overcoat of bird’s feathers, of iron shavings and ball bearings
of mud and plaster, of orange peel and bird’s feet
of weather vanes and chicken bones, of hands making shadow puppets,

Love in an overcoat, worn in an insane asylum, in a wintery Siberian camp
in an electric chair, for the nude body of a gargoyle
for an Assyrian captive of war, for a Christ.

It wasn’t a game that we played

There are times of madness that make no sense

It wasn’t a game that we played
It wasn’t a dream that we made
It wasn’t a trip to the seaside or a desire just to get laid

There countries rising and falling
There were nations losing their minds
There were slaves working the silver
There were astronauts floating in time

It wasn’t a bet on the horses
It wasn’t a dance on the floor
It wasn’t another bruised elbow or a trip to the candy store

There are animals gone to extinction
There are prisoners still to set free
There are children gone missing for ages
There are aeroplanes lost out at sea

It wasn’t a game of hide and seek
It wasn’t a Christmas tree
It wasn’t a glass of champagne
It wasn’t a bird loves a bee

It was a continent turning to rubble
It was a forest burned down to the ground
It was the sad loss of a loved one
It was the whole world spinning round

I’m your fire-eater

Don’t choose him, choose me

I’m your fire-eater and your love’s in flames
I feed upon your heart and your dancing games.
I’m your fire-eater, I swallow flames of air
If your loves on fire then you’re going to want me there.

In a burning city or in the middle of a wood
Wherever a fire is started I extinguish it with love.
I eat the sparking flames, I eat the warming fires.
All that’s in the ashes are the truths and liars.

If the sky should catch on fire and the clouds should burn
The fire-eater devours it before the earth has turned.
In the poor part of the city up a winding stair
Look for my office in the clouds, you will find me there.

I’m a fire-eater and I never die; I’m a fire eater and I guard the sky

To you, for who ignorance is a virtue

Lack of education creates this kind of philosophy

To you, for whom ignorance is a virtue; to you for who pride is a god
Strip off naked so that we can see your scales of flesh
How can you be the shepherd of children; how can you give good counsel?

Leave that reptile den where you live;
Leave that cemetery where you sleep at night.
If you fall behind then let the children lead you out
Let their laughter be your food and drink

This pop world

The pop world has lost it, man,

This pop world, this cat litter tray
These redcoats made of lead,
These Swiss clocks in the belfry
These pop stars in giant parade ground boots,
This sprinkling of spaghetti on burnt meat
This bursting weather balloon,
This TV sludge, this money slot
These broomsticks from the stage,
These shrieking bats in the rubbish tip
These anal thermometers of modern music
These staged tantrums, these pantomimes
These air raid ghosts, these skulking leaping puppets
These mouths like open black holes,
These corpses dressed in sequins
This barroom brawl, this pop world

I’ll tell you what you want to hear

An act of desperation maybe

I will tell you what you want to hear because you are a girl
I will do anything to get you near because I love you
The shadows in the basement, the porcupine pen quill
Writing lots of letters to the many men

They will run to the cashier in the blue-dyed suit
Turning gold into the rivers of time, in a black leather boot
However, I will tell you what you want to hear

It won’t get you any attention

Juvenile criminal behaviour isn’t a joke

It won’t get you any attention;
It won’t get you any fame
You can forget any public mention
And making yourself a good name.

As blood spreads over the pavement
Enough to fill a ten-gallon hat
Do you see any friends of yours laughing?
No, there’s nothing clever in that.

You won’t get praise from your mother;
You won’t get a pat on the back
You won’t get a hug from your lover,
No, there’s nothing clever in that.

You’ll spend your whole life in prison,
You’ll be considered a prat
The prison wardens will be laughing saying
There’s nothing clever in that.


The things people do to each other will have a lasting effect

There’s a boulevard of fog in a museum of trees
There’s a bonfire of birds and bees
The eternal jester sits in his chair
He takes off his hat and combs out his hair

Down by the fountain hidden in the smog
The fountain is as dry as the bones of Magog
An army of skeletons surge through the gates
With broken compasses and surveyor’s tapes

By the burning lake of smouldering fire
The smog is redder than hot copper wire
As down through the boulevard of smoke and flame
The jester comes dancing and calls out your name

Is this hurt or is this hate?

How a young person lacking in wisdom fares

Is this hurt or is this hate, I really can’t decide
Is this hurt or is this hate; I only want to hide
To hide my hurt I’ll say its hate, I’ll tap into the current alone
Then as I flow along through life my hurt will turn to stone

I’ll hide my hate and I’ll say I’m hurt to everyone who asks
And when no one is looking on I’ll stab them in the back
Is this hurt, or is this hate, I really can’t decide
I leave a trail of bloody knives across the countrywide

The seed of ancient time

The lessons of history will return and bite you

The seed of ancient time is covered by the night;
The roots are getting swollen, the wings are growing bright
The seed of ancient heritage was covered by the night;
Still, there is a love left there, a hope to see the light.

You can send concrete mixers; you can lay your paving stone
But when that light is shining, well I’m going home.

The story of ancient Empires

The lessons of history

Egypt grew along the length of the great river
they had their pharaoh as god and they built great royal buildings
then they conquered the smaller nations around them and Egypt grew great.

Then the Assyrians came with swords and bows and shields
and the Assyrians were a cruel and warlike people
and they wanted Egypt as a prize and they invaded and conquered them
and Assyria became greater and ruled over Egypt

then the Babylonians came and they conquered Assyria and Egypt and they became greater still.
Then one day as they held a drunken party
the Persians came, they dammed up the river Euphrates
they entered the unguarded gates of Babylon
and they conquered them and Persia became greater still

But the Persians wanted to be even greater than they were
and to conquer the Europeans, so they sent a great army of men and a great fleet of ships
and they were defeated by the Greeks before they could reach Europe
and a great king grew up who went against the Persians and won
and the Greeks became the greatest of the greatest

Then the Romans grew strong with great marching armies
they marched against the Greeks and defeated them
and the Romans became supremely great

But the Christians were born and they grew in numbers by word of mouth
and they talked of peace and long life and they conquered the Romans with love
but the Romans diluted the words of peace with their own words
and conquered them and changed them with their own beliefs

then the King of Kings, the Christian king came against them and his army was invincible
and the Romans and their progeny were conquered
and the peaceful words of the Christians became supreme above all other things
and Egypt, Assyria and Babylon, Persia Greece and Rome were no more

I’ve been knocking on your door

About the sense in hopelessness in society

I’ve been knocking on your door; I’ve been knocking on your door
But as you know so well, it’s a prison cell, but what am I in for?
I’ve been knocking on the door of the outside world thinking I’d be let in
But a man who is blind cannot tell the time or where his death begins.

I climbed out through the window; I climbed out through the window
But as you well know, it’s so hard, it’s so hard to get back in
The outside world is Daliesque, it’s just like a Picasso;
The outside world is picturesque like the princess of Monaco.

I’ve been knocking on your chin, I’ve been knocking on your chin
But as you well know, like the boxer – I’m fixed – I can’t win.
I’m sitting the corner of the inner ring
Wondering who will care for this bloody mess I’m in.
But a man with a black eye cannot tell where his death begins

The outside world is Ludo, the outside world is Bridge
The outside world is Cludo and I’m sitting in a fridge

I’ve been knocking on your brain; I’ve been knocking on your brain
But as you well know an empty skull doesn’t have one
I’m stuck in the corner of the laboratory lab thinking of the love that I never had
Wondering who will stitch me up and send me to the electric chair.
But a man in a hood he can’t see if death is there

The outside world has come to see the greatest circus in history
Now the outside world sits beside the grave to watch the charge of the light brigade

I feel I have to fill in the empty spaces

About the feeling of being left behind

I feel I have to fill in the empty spaces I’ve been left in
The schoolmaster and his whip have stapled up my purple lip
I feel I have to fill in the empty spaces I’m sinking in
The wall is growing all around and the magpie archers are getting down
I feel I have to fill in the empty spaces I’ve been left in
Like the porous tea bag, the holy cheese, or the holes punched in tickets.

When you live and die and you don’t know why sitting there on your butter mountain
When the riot police have the Golden Fleece but you don’t even have a fountain.
I feel I have to fill in the empty spaces I’ve been left in
With a hand full of sand or with plastic beads you try planting those Christmas trees
When you love and you hate all over the place like a dirty dish mop plop
When the corporation burns your reputation and puts you down in a parking lot

Talking about God

A seemingly impossible thing to bring up in a normal conversation

I’m talking about God, now that feels strange
I’m a goldfish drowning in a bowl of tears
or getting hung for a crime that isn’t a crime
I’m on an island made of nails
or I’m sitting on the roof of an empty burning house
I’m holding back the ocean with a wooden shield
or I’m a free-spinning wheel in a broken engine
I’m a baby falling out of a window to its death
or I’m introducing a motor car to a tribe of primitive natives.

Organized by moles in suits

I resort to desperation

Organized by moles in suits, crocodiles in swimming trunks, camels in bowler hats, sharks in overalls for the cogs of machinery that run the machines that make the spark plugs spark, that fire the rockets, that carry the satellites that orbit the earth that rust in space

A book of patterns, a manual of squeaks;
A manifesto of parrot dances
An architectural plan for dog walking areas
A path thru a thicket of fingers
A voyage over a sea of goulash
A pothole leading to the lost pig’s trough
A mountaintop bristling with commando killing knives
A monkey in a smoking cornfield
A bacterial colony growing on mars
A swordfish in a marathon
A plank of timber in a diamond heist
A burning pair of denims in an oil slick
A legless rocking horse in a university
A mossy boulder sitting in the House of Commons
A broken kite tangled up in the fingers of the Pope.

In primordial darkness

The hopelessness that creation/life is in

In primordial darkness, the baby opened her eyes
Was she already in her coffin? Was she already dead?
In the first days of darkness; the eyes just beginning to see
The vast womb was terrifying; the first day of life was of terror.
No other voices echoed through the vault; her crib was a windowless black hole
Too scared to cry, accepting death, she closed her eyes and went dead

I don’t pay for your milk

About the coldness of the neighbourhood

I don’t pay for your milk so don’t you pay for mine
I don’t take in your mail so don’t you even mind
I won’t tell you the honest truth and you won’t stop from lying
I won’t call you an ambulance and you won’t hear my crying

I don’t cross your garden if you don’t cross my floor
I won’t break your windows you don’t smash my door
I won’t feed your cat and you won’t waste my time
I won’t call you an ambulance if you ignore me crying

I don’t fight your burglars so leave my vandals alone
I won’t clean your graffiti if you let them throw their stones
I won’t tell you the honest truth and you won’t stop from your lying
And I won’t call you an ambulance and you won’t hear me crying

Shop for the poor

If we all gave a little could we wipe out poverty

Imagine it’s your family that you need to shop for
Then fill up your basket and shop for the poor,
Shop for the poor, shop for the poor
Fill up your basket and shop for the poor.

Fill up your baskets not with bullets and gore
But fill up your basket and shop for the poor
Compute what was taken and give ten times more

Mansions might crumble down to the floor
But fill up your basket and shop for the poor

And that their caves have light

They think that their light is shining yet they lead us into the abyss

When a leader’s being idolized like a statue in a shrine
You can bet that there’ll be conflict somewhere on down the line
When mountains go to war, the valley fills with blood
The gods you make of stone feel neither pain nor love

Leaders make the choice; do you live or do you die?
People also must decide what’s true and what’s a lie
When leaders start to dress in silver and in silk
The poorer ones get poorer and they live on bread and milk

When they’re building up their armies like in a game of chess
One side hates the other and all you have is a mess
If you put them on a pedestal and give them a clean slate
Like bullies in a playground, there’ll be the blood of hate


You have to be careful with your leaders
As they sit in their lead-footed octopus’ suits.
Should they start to gnaw at their own wounds
It’s a sign they are not happy with you.
The world is a different place for them
You are still an amphibian who needs the sea;
They have crawled right into the bad wolfs lair
And must fight to survive and be free.

You have to be careful with your leaders
They stare at the sun from their manholes
And what they think are good policies
Are burning books erupting from volcanoes.
Send them packages of cotton wool
And pillows made of moonlight
And hope that the ice recedes
And that their caves have light


I’ve seen the West Minster by the river Thames
With a gremlin in his pocket, his name was the ten of spades.
The black neap tide was in, it lapped the stony walls
There came a lot of shouting from the empty halls.

He climbed upon the floodwall then he jumped right in
And sank down to the bottom where the light was dim.
Someone with a sandwich board that proclaimed he had demised
It’s a loss for the nation and the game of truth and lies.

And as the dawn was breaking and the traffic was in flame
He was carried to the cold North Sea and they all forgot his name

All this teamwork

When they have power over you and try to train you to be like them

All this teamwork, as if I was in an army unit:
One to check the time, one to make the plan;
One to be the general, one to be the simple man.

All this teamwork bothers me; everyone is put in their place
One to wear the mask, one to wear the face.
This is teamwork country, this is teamwork land
If everyone is equal why does poverty expand?

I was on a team today, I was made to fit
Everyone was over me, to fetch, to bark, to sit.
I must do my teamwork; I’m not given any other choice
Make sure you write it out for me or put me back on ice

Teamwork! cry the politicians. Teamwork! Cries the school
Teamwork in the workplace, Teamwork in the pool
Organize and systemize, all must have their place
Scrub that boot, straighten that tie, wipe that smile from off your face

We had another lesson; it’s no place for a jerk
We had another lesson, all about teamwork

Pass the tears around

Don’t you hear them crying?

Pass the tears around; let the whole world feel them
How they sink like swords into your hidden kingdom.
Pass the tears around, swirl them around inside you
Look into their depth; try to feel like I do.

Pass the tears around, made of milk and cowbells
Drink that rattle down, falling down your dry well.
Pass those tears around; they evaporate like morning dew
Sleep not in a trance but on a bed of evil news.

Pass the tears around beside the gates of Babylon
To the ancient dead in the unmarked graves of man.
Pass those tears around like a stolen diamond necklace
Kiss them with your eyes; hold them in your hands.

Bacchus was a holy man

The influence of a bad spirit leading you astray

Bacchus was a holy man inside the tree of olives
A choir of nymphs would sing to him ready with their knives
He rolled in flames of anger down the mountainsides
And like a team of stallions, he stampedes on our hides

Bacchus the delinquent rode a pink Cadillac
Across the plains of Babylon with a hurricane on his back
Your eyes he filled with thunder, your mouths he filled with flame
Your head he filled with oblivion so you can’t remember your name

Bacchus was a holy man buried in the vine
At every emperor’s festival, they glorified his lies
If you want a long life, don’t drink his fiery meth
Or else you’ll follow the leader down, into the lake of death






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