Why do you do the things you've done
and how dumb would you have to be
to do them again like I know you're going to?
If you're the poet you say you are and beauty's in everything you see,
then how can love exist in a world run by people like you?
Because when there's suffering, you're there.
From southern trees, you hang them in the air.
The world screams out in agony and you don't care,
but should the shit hit the fan,
I just pray you will not be spared.
You took a heart with so much room for love
and filled it with hatred and rage
until there was nothing left but for it to shrivel up and die. People will tell you that if you don't love your neighbor, then you don't love God,
but no god of mine would put light in such unrighteous eyes.
Now the way we hold each other so tight
would look more like a noose if held up to the light because we betray each other in dreams every night.
Now let's never speak of it again, all right?