Dylan Speak

You held back the curtains,
watched your fine china fall,
through the spectrum,
and down to the floor.
Toss back your hair,
drown your sorrow.
Leave it behind.
Step through the door

The jailer holds the dreams,
deep in his front pocket,
key to the cells,
he keeps men locked in.
End of the day,
the key's with him,
he needs those dreams,
makes his world spin.

They built the lord's chapel
on the top of the hill,
In the damp ground,
lay the coffins still.
Mourning the dead,
memories fade,
hoard their jewels,
fortunes in wills.

The farmer lays the plow
to the dirt in the field.
Blood on the blade
and crops it will yield.
Late in the nite,
full moon rays shine,
onto his bed,
his pride revealed.

Send to me your tired.
I will make them the poor.
Destiny's child
will grow up a whore.
No chance for pearls,
or take-out food,
Alone from birth,
the rain shall pour.

Look at lesbians
as they sneer at the gay.
They look like men,
it's a game they play
Amazon girls,
their strength they boast,
but wear a dress,
oh, yay, no way.

An old priest saw the light
and bowed down before it.
The poet, knew light,
and rose before it.
Many people
try to covet.
Their words are lies ,
rise above it.

What is the beginning
of the end of the earth?
Storms and hunger,
or the virgin birth?

When we all die,
we are re-born.

Our slate wiped clean
of human worth