The crying baby on a high horse,
Where did they go?
where was the course?
The crying baby morally drowned,
The crying baby royally crowned.
Who need direction,
who needs the woe,
who needs more,
of that darn horror show.
Who trusts,
our education,
who’s perfect,
penultimate sin.
Who do you,
now believe in,
cant you see,
their frail and skin?
Creator of heaven,
creator of hell,
creator of all those,
who’s wearing his jell.
Haven’t you heard,
cant you taste,
don’t you also,
hate when its waste.
With limited motion,
with limited will,
will limited labels,
we look for the thrill.
God ‘he’ know,
just as well,
how to conduct,
and ring ‘his’ own bell.
Why not look,
at what he has,
twenty six forms,
and a timeless fan.
Its started when A frames around,
when building the first,
roof over ground.
They wanted some shelter,
they wanted some food,
they wanted to protect,
themselves from the brood.
And so through prayer,
thinking and stuff,
they worked it out,
as Gods great bluff.
Your fear your dear,
your fleeing for sear,
when will you find,
yourself in the rear?
burning up,
entropicly sane.
not listening to Gods,
voice of refrain.
Thirteen steps,
given to me,
thirteen steps,
to be free free free.
free from the grog,
free from the smoke,
free from the hold,
of all those judge folk.
Drink to the judge,
drink to the hold,
drink until,
your fully in fold.
Wake up wont you,
smell the rose,
gather your friends,
adopt the pose.
Proper prana,
proper poise,
prop up the world,
just for the toys.
read your story,
read it aloud,
read it until,
the last of the crowd.
They have the work,
their pets and stuff,
game consoles,
and staying tough.
But who compares,
to the formless one,
contained within,
using brains as gun.
who’s preserving?
probably one,
one helpful hand,
providing just some.
I’d lend a hand,
when I’m done,
looking for clues,
seering in son.