Grey clouds on a sabbath day.
One day out of seven,not forced,willingly on your knees.
No brass,forced to worship and polish to appease.
The false idols rested on the seventh day.
Colonial statues with clay hearts,crumble and decay.
No chains under the unrelenting hot sun to enslave.
Eleven fifty-nine p.m,the iron rusted fist recedes.
Blood on the hands,soaked in poison deeds.
A time of rest,the wounds of toil,unwrap and bleed.
A day of power,stripped bare of race and hate.
Monday the chain tightens,the key inserts unlocking the barbed gate.
...at the Hermitage...
"You're not welcomed here."
"Where better? You doubt."
"Your lies distract me!"
"You are of two minds."
"I'll be rid of you!"
"You're the one that called."
"I merely wrestle - "
"With your worldliness."
"I'm only human."
"That is prone to fail"
"Get away from me!"
"How will you make me?"
"Through sheer force of will."
"You cannot be still."
"Heaven, please help me!"
"It doesn't exist."
"It's you I'll resist."
"And though you may rage-"
"Get away from me!"
"-already engaged."
"Let me set the stage."
"This is sacrilege!"
"I'll visit your dreams,
where you lose control
and possess your soul."
Like All Other Days
One day at the hermitage
I knew the way I'd live
Be'd the same as the orphanage
That leaked me from its sieve
Herd 'em up and tally ho!
Do the counts and tuck 'em in
The quiet ones are always slow
The louder ones all live in sin
I fell through the system's crack
And failed to assimilate my way back in
To society's stack of pack-rat flak
But live lonely waiting death again