Mortaljive: The Rest is Silence

There is no still point in all the Universe, and that is the rock upon which I stand

Monday, May 19, 2008

A God Made of Sin

words have been written, songs have been sung
arguments tended and bells have been rung
the bodies of men and women in kind
hung on the walls and buried in time

war never loves you, a thing out of mind
a murder of lovers and life of all kind
an answer to freedom, an act of the power
it steals and it blinds just like a coward

pick up your helmet, your blade and your gun
ride as to battle and into the sun
vanquish the others, when vanquishing's done
pick up the pieces and bury your son
pick up the pieces and bury your son

bury the children, bury them deep
bury the bones and bury the meat
bury the future right in with the past
bury your self, nothing will last

war is the goddamn, a god made of sin
a god of the blood-sand and death's flashing grin
of life that is severed, of mind that is shot
spend what you can on a burial plot

men count the money and add up the take
their eyes are on fire, their souls on the stake
war is the whore, their favorite lay
she laughs on their laps while they have their way

pick up your helmet, your blade and your gun
ride as to battle and into the sun
vanquish the others, when vanquishing's done
pick up the pieces and bury your son
pick up the pieces and bury your son

bury the children, bury them deep
bury the bones and bury the meat
bury the future right in with the past
bury your self, nothing will last

tender is flesh that binds to the bones
tender is love that seeks out a home
cry at the tomb and weep at the crypt
tender is mercy whose blood you will sip

how does it happen, this darkness endured
how does it happen from cancer no cure
war is the favorite, god's chosen one
pick up your helmet, your blade and your gun

pick up your helmet, your blade and your gun
ride as to battle and into the sun
vanquish the others, when vanquishing's done
pick up the pieces and bury your son
pick up the pieces and bury your son

bury the children, bury them deep
bury the bones and bury the meat
bury the future right in with the past
bury your self, nothing will last

war is the goddamn, a god made of sin
a god of the blood-sand and death's flashing grin
of life that is severed, of mind that is shot
spend what you can on a burial plot

men count the money and add up the take
their eyes are on fire, their souls on the stake
war is the whore, their favorite lay
she laughs on their laps while they have their way

pick up your helmet, your blade and your gun
ride as to battle and into the sun
vanquish the others, when vanquishing's done
pick up the pieces and bury your son
pick up the pieces and bury your son

bury the children, bury them deep
bury the bones and bury the meat
bury the future right in with the past
bury your self, nothing will last

++++

2 Comments:

At 5:05 AM, Blogger Bukko_in_Australia said...

Hey MJS: Quick note to say I thought two of the comments you made recently on Teh General's site were among the best I've read there. The one about the Kafkaesque nature of secret laws was a superb illustration of illogic, and your bit about the "monkey patch" had me laughing until my eyes got cloudy. And I'm not easily amused, except for bitter chuckles. Good onya! I can't mention this at the General's site because it would seem too French.

 
At 3:31 PM, Anonymous Lilac from CA said...

I really enjoyed this. One of the best poems I've read in a long, long time.

 

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