When you look at
pretty people
When you think up
pretty lies,
Keep your cards on
the table,
Keep a jar of little
flies,
When they throw you
a bone and tell you that you're king,
When the revolution
knocks, it's not enough to sing.
Peace ain't enough
for the gnawers at your toes,
And it sure ain't a
parable the rich man knows.
When the left hand
catches what the right hand throws,
And it's everything
you pay, but there's nothing that you owe,
The world's unfair,
but equally so,
When low is high,
and high is low,
And hate masks love,
or love masks hate,
When you've built
your cell, and you're looking for a mate,
And there ain't no
church, and there ain't no steeple,
And your fucking
fingers ain't fucking people,
When everyone's
wrong but the guy who's speaking,
And nobody's
looking, but everyone's peeking.
And everyone's
shaking, cause everyone's drowning,
Cause something is
missing, and it's somewhere around.
In God, or in war,
or somewhere in between,
In some crack in the
crystal which keeps it unseen.
In some box in the
attic with your mother's old clothes,
Where the moth-balls
dance on the snot in your nose,
So go ask the clouds
where they've hidden your soul,
Your cosmic
connection, your hand in the whole.
Go ask them. Remember, the holiest word
Still don't mean a
thing if it never gets heard.
