Bed of Nails
he got a face like a catchers mitt
pitch a little mother’s love at that
she gets by without a trace of wit
who’s on first when no one’s up to bat
she sells cheap pills by the schoolyard
on Sundays from a back yard shed
he sails up and down a ragged shore sure
his drowned child’s not really dead
it’s so pleasant on my bed of nails
staring up at points of light
try not to move don’t think about too much
falling stars and fireflies tell you it’s alright
she got the stripped elm body of a boy
wild child with wind in flaming hair
he got a flask of silver by his heart
all the joy and love tin-man needs are there
he got strips of duct-tape stuck to his head
they help him hear the voices when they call
she got a mirror mirror on the wall
seems nothing’s fair at all
it’s so pleasant…
aqueducts and order legions on the hill
coliseum nights and other blasts
all fall down like jack and jill
tragic tale and a kamikaze cast
it’s so pleasant…
Points of Light