Kicks the Can

A thousand, red warriors reluctantly ordered to begin
A charge that lead to slaughter amid chaotic blackened din
On a desert plain where I now stand rubbing dusty eyes
With the company of a deaf friend whose beginnings I despise
It is lonely at this stop here with the low arms
of light creeping in
We delivered the kiss of death and it was
well received
It is lonely and there is no place to go except down
It’s lonely and there’s no where to go except down
The desert is alone and I’ve no face to show this dawn
Just heavy, cold light on these eyes, this sorry excuse
for eyes
I dressed up a cactus as a clown and on
his spiny face I painted a frown
His whiskers brush my cheek, I plant the kiss
of death, my lip bleeds
It is lonely and the only direction I know
is down into the battle
It is lonely and the only place I know to go
is down into the bottle
The desert is home for me, a dusty, circus clown
“the moth balls,” I told you “were such a sorry
excuse for eyes.”
On a desert plain where I now stand rubbing
dusty eyes
In a company of a drunk, deaf, dumb friend
whose beginnings I despise
spotted with placid mirrors is this ground
but their reflection scares the shit out of me
Takes what he can, when he can, why he can
He kicks the can
There’s a pebble inside and it rattles hopelessly
to the empty desert dawn
but it was well received
really