souls splayed out flat like flies on a windshield
mud, dried and cracked coats the tires of this vehicle
are you seeking redemption in that reflectionless murk?
finding clear waters has been my whole life's work.

you spit sour grapes and as they are squished beneath my feet
hungry little mouths like baby birds chirp, "give us some to eat!"
...and the factory smoke-stack makes clouds on the horizon
these litter-guttered streets are not fit to feast our eyes on.

winter winds have blown away all traces of tjhe dead.
i still hear them; howling banshees live inside my head
spring is short and summer sears the asphalt turns to magma
and the televised evangelistic orgy just spouts dogma.

whether we'll withstand the weather is manifest by will
caulk the cracks and pound the tacks and keep the coffers filled.
the fields lie barren, locust shells crunch beneath the tires
dignity is a witch which we watch consumed in pyres

lightning streaks the sky and now the blessed rain falls.
sent to save the witches but we have forgotten
the trial is ongoing. there is someone to punish
because the object of the witch-hunt is to make our own sins vanish'