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American Anthem | Aleister's Pal | Cardboard Box
The Critic, His Wife, Her Friend, and Me 
Cry for Help

An American Anthem

Clap on the light so I can see
Dial 1-800-take advantage of me
A toll-free call; A subscription begins
For those who dare Enquire within
They spread lies that spread the shores
They have lawyers now go get yours
But make sure not to miss Home Shopping Time
For a nifty new rack to hold your wine
A pizza pocket maker to ease troubled days
Only $29.95 and its on the way
But save that money if I can
Got to buy myself a Pocket Fisherman
Dear Lord I'd give all this up today
If you promise not to take my Chia Pet away

Aleister's Pal

Denied, denied, let freedom be denied
          to the one with Bruno Maglis
          and the legends on his side

Before the 25 million sins
          to which you live
          come weasel-ing 'round the bend
          and cry out for some reprieve

As a ranting raving screaming mad fit
          of antipathy
Hope, hope and lust
          won't you be my Antigone
          and I the Polyneices that you strive to bury

For I be truth and not your pigeon
Not a slave to Aleister's minions
          that weave the implausible magicks
          across the fool faces of your peers

Down, down, my bittersweet Antigone
          for your truths will fail
Your sin's bribery won't hold you
          in it's company alone forever
In time you'll join the old Crowley man
          and drink of all his ale

Sweet will become that day
          to many a good folk
For then they can truly have some peace
          to try and forget the lies you spake

Cardboard Box

Plain brown box
Nothing inside
but dust

Wide open lid
Nothing to
cover up

Weak shabby bottom
Dirt doesn't weigh
that much

Half busted sides
Nothing left
to hide

The Critic, His Wife, Her Friend, and ME

Why don't you set it all to music
'Cause I'm sure it would have a lovely melody
Just you, your wife, her friend, and me
With a horrid tempo tapping out
Someone else's sweet dreams of fantasy

Whistling rhythms I've heard before
From my airy window sill overlooking lands
That I once knew so true

And who is this man Roget
Who tells me my words would taste
Sweeter sugar coated and running after
The thoughts that they far out paced

He sings out rough coursing notes but clear
Yet this Bartlett brother never heeds
The calling of the music coming off the pages that he reads
My pretty music quoting fame and spouting
Dreams that only now come true

Cry For Help

Precious moments passing as I lay locked alone
Listen very closely and you may hear my tearful moan
Hunger cries aloud for just one morsel to eat
Cries that brings no food just an invitation to be beat
Thinking silent prayer for the misery to end
Hoping beyond all hope that Death will become my friend
Promising to stop if I could only see the Sun
Promising to quit but still not knowing what I've done
Final thoughts that turn to family in a hymn
I wonder if they know that I will always love them