a rusted crown in the kingdom of rain

 

sunshine & lies & the knowledge that

there is no more growing up,

there is only growing old

 

that every town is the same, that

every street dead-ends at the river

 

find the bodies

beneath the bridge

 

find the kids asleep

in front of the tv

 

this is how time passes, okay?

 

without logic or continuity

 

an endless stream of inane

top 40 hits about fucking disguised as

love songs, and whatever happened

                                          to pilate?

 

that mother knew how to play,

knew how to shred,

how to sing about teenage pussy and

the morning-after blues, but if

there’s one thing the zealots

know how to do, it’s screw up the

good times for the rest of us

 

if there’s one thing i like about

martyrs, it’s that

they’re already dead and buried

 

it’s that they’re already

half-way to being fogotten