Monday, June 18, 2007

and today we see but we don't care.

the perfectionist

he sees his idol
he doesn't pray
lies to convince
his heart this very day
his eyelids are half open
a naked soul does point the way
into a hole he ascends
off comes his hat and he amends
oh that sweet smile
behind which he tastes bile
he holds out his hand
but somehow he fails to understand
the very spirit he speaks
the very idol he reeks
will paint the lot in his own hell created
that is where he will land
and so he chants
i am a thinker
i am a stinker.
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