Fat tourists and blown out windows I haven't seen the sun since you died Alone and crazy like you wanted, vented I'm a sucker for chicanery and first person narratives Sedatives, a child bent on torture by the good book But there's nothing good in the look Of dead birds and silent-skinny-dogs Dented rusty trucks, gun racks, and mosquito larvae. Silk worms dance, singe, to flames on church street Grandmother rolling out fresh biscuits And drunk old men rocking away to the blues The sound of spent rooster, and shotgun I'm in love with you dead mother, fucking Another lover by the rail road tracks In yellowing high weeds, I need a religion That sings of promise and salvation. Armies, brass instruments, where is my - - Drummer boy and rifle, rations, canteen? I have a bone to pick with you A flute to hollow out and whistle through Another minstrel fingering away at children Clearing town of rats and welcome mats Carve a cross into my forehead with sweet oil And stolen silver; forge me a weapon Promise me a dream that keeps me needing. The cold, when will I be wanted, kept? Sent into the night like a dark bird Strapped with message and ill intent Can I not just sleep with my shoes on? Again, and again to the sound of crashing Symbols and echos from the past Behind mask and massacred shadow I want you Satan, I want you to show me More than I can keep from the light I want to be burnt bright with witches and mad men against post, or crooked tree. Planted by the past, I am not my father But who will bother to separate ash from dirt When death catches up with memory Give me poison, sick sex, and a million More hours of bad TV, and politicians Promising aisle upon aisle of product And circus like grandeur complete with trained animal and spun treats Forgive me, forgive me for noticing too much ado about nothing. Here is my letter, my last request Give me fire, smoke & Send the Devil.