Sick Mind

Peoples now-a-days got a sick mind,

I tell you, and ain’t you seen it?

Ain’t you seen it with the Time?

They steal it,

Don’t share it,

And kill with it;

Ain’t you seen it?

The wrong some,

Ain’t you seen the Lost ones,

Who cain’t do nothin’,

Won’t do nothin’

In Life’s garden,

Don’t grow nothin’?

Ain’t you seen them Vines?

Growin’ on the poor fences,

While the Poor winces,

And the rich man rinses

His Red money,

Payin’ for old Honey

The Bees done thrown out—

Done with it—and bears won’t eat it;

Ain’t you seen it?

Ain’t you seen the Fruit Orchard

With all the bird words;

Watch the trees grow ripe and rancid,

Droppin’ degradation,

You seen the lot,

Now watch the dead-rot

Of a lost generation.

Ain’t you seen the Wholly mount crumble;

It tumbles down,

And fumbles

From the White Collar,

In the Black dress,

And the Tall Hat;

Ain’t you seen that Mess,

After Mass?

They sacrifice a Peach

On the peak, in a screech

Ain’t you seen the venom;

In the sermon

Command kids to squeeze the Lemon

Ain’t you seen it?

The Blind Peoples

At the gold Steeples,

Grow feeble,

And weaker

In the old beaker,

And they smell;

They smell cheaper?

Ain’t yous seen the Sick Jokes?

The Dumb in the Throne,

The Wise in the Yokes,

And Time don’t float,

But Age smotes,

And ropes, like the gallows trip;

When understanding is bricked

And turned to Shit,

Ain’t you seen it?

Ain’t you seen the world from your own eyes,

Or just their smiles?

Ain’t you seen what be, or is?

What it could be?

What it should be,

Or would be

If we gave Atlas some relief?

Ain’t you seen them War-birds fly,

And you pray and ask Why,

And there ain’t no answer

So you Cry,

And weep for a Why?

But it don’t stop hate;

It won’t stop a Lie…

It’s just a Hope,

A hope you don’t die,

And when God is speechless;

When he’s deaf;

You say He ain’t got no time

For all us Sinners left;

And you think He’s up there

Smilin’ down,

But He ain’t,

He’s in your sick mind,

Tarnishing your crown;

Ain’t you seen it?

Ain’t you never hear a poor man speak,

In the gutter, or the bar;

Or maybe a dead man weep,

For the earlier moon and star.

Perhaps, take it from the Word man’s beak,

So the Long way don’t seem so far:

Any way learnt dupes an ig’nant-way street;

In the End,

You think it’ll all make sense,

You walk the field

And come to the fence,

But the grass ain’t green,

And you need to sleep

Wake-up!

The way back’s too mean.

Ain’t you seen it?

Are you ready for the loamy nap,

Wait, maybe it ain’t time…

Maybe there’s still time

Maybe Now is just out of line...

Or maybe, you just blind.

Peoples now days is a twisted kind,

Peoples now-a-days got a sick, sick mind.