Where to Go?

Where to go? There's fire all around. And crowds of greedy eyes are hacking meat. From gaping mouths a pompous stench Is pumped out through a pair of vocal cords. You try it once or twice, and look — You're marching in this vanguard, too. You laugh so hard — careful, you'll split your gut. He laughs who fired the starting gun. And why not call it sport — the rat race? But what do two-legged creatures need with rats' experience? The running river teems and swarms. It's sickening to watch — almost to the point of puking. Chanel scents — but the souls just reek. And spirits, mostly from the pit of hell, Pour into the Holy Spirit the strongest venom And every year they're getting hungrier. So there's no God. Let's say. What then? Trudge somehow to the finish gong. Eat, sleep and defecate — well, how about that! We've reached the level of King Kong's development. There is no hope — hope's like a cage. The shackles of reason for a thirsting soul. Let the broken branches of faith's tree Slowly grow back together in the backwoods of the mind. Let movement bear its fruit — the move toward The freedom of the spirit through eternal toil. The moment comes to lose the gift of speech. You were walking home — and here at last you are.