Our legacy is violence.
It's history has been long.
To long I've sat in silence.
Today I sing a song

of paranoid suspicion
to which my thoughts are wed.
A wordless exhibition
of things best left unsaid

for ears hear in the distance.
Tongues wag from afar
in hopes of earning sixpence
or a contraband cigar.

Brother killing brother.
Father killing son.
A mother has another
and both are on the run.

like they've never run before.
Running for their life.
Running evermore,
like Lot's pathetic wife.

For God, He hath forsaken
His children once again.
He's set the earth to quakin'
with reconfigured spin.

Delinquent in our taxes
He's bestowed on us a gift.
Reversal of the axis
and plates set adrift.

A mutant viral spawn
killing everything it touches
from thugs on White House lawn
to bushmen in their hutches.

He's singing Helter Skelter.
"What is and what has been.
I'll throw it in a smelter
and do it all again".