Someday They Will Fall
I’ve bruised my hands and their knuckles looking for truth;
Underneath carpets, and rugs; I moved the table and the booth;
These desperate times are always desperate, Babylon;
When you fall Sodom is Sodom and sodomy has nothing to do with your fall, oh Babylon-
It is a fault your own, a Gomorrah of truth hidden underneath your table, booth, and throne.
The evil-doer’s do not know they’re evil, this truth I have learned;
For they see no good, or good to them is their money, their orgasms, and fame.
I look for the other good; the one unnamed and only known by the good;
A truth such as this must be experienced to be known; through mind alone-
It is no good, not truth.
My own place and time has healed my knuckles, now the bruise is purple-
I look at the sky and do not fear I shall die, I simply know things happen-
For the young, the old, and to those who have heard truth but have not experienced its hold;
I am bold, and walking from hospital to bed to shed;
Those hands will be flesh, the bruises healed-
And the truth made real-
Oh Babylon, do fall-it is the holy deal.