Boomer Verses

Along the watchtower in that most destructive hour the watchman reports a disturbance a most extreme perturbance like no other ever seen before since the waters stirred upon the shores of time maybe something worth a dime no, but like the smothering of electrons, protons, neutrons recovering yeah I say unto thee cuz my advice is free: them atoms in the great winepress of the world all along Hiroshima they got unfurled the uncurling of the world the unsacking of Nagasaki. so far, so far from Hackensackee There must be some way outa here! said the boomer to doomer. “If you miss the train I’m on you will know that I am gone.” Just sit and watch the tube a while: At the inception “500 miles, from Alamagordo World’s first Destroyer’s breakthrough 500 miles from where Destroyer of worlds first first laid out his plan unfurled. “. . .but I digress” said the networks to the press. through a sixth-floor window it flew: phase two. And that’s the way it was, November twenty-two What’s it to you? said the captain to the crew. Then six years, six million tears, another fuse: when the Memphis blues sung out the news from that Lorraine balcony, a terrible thing: the execution of Doctor King! He said Let Justice roll down like the waters as the ancient prophet and the potter with his vessel upon the wheel spinning strong in lets make a deal. But who sentenced the prophet to death? musta been on confederate meth. Meanwhile back at the ranch we unload the next tranche. Before it gets gone, send it to Saigon so the American dream goes on and on. Who’da thought Nixon would be the one with Henry’s help make Saigon get gone. Who’da thunk it that a peanut guy from Plains would dig up plan to rearrange the flood of crud that watergate poured out and hold the fort ’til the 444 got let out from Tehran trouble and ayatollah clout. It’s morning in America and whoopdee doo! Must be some way out and what’s it to you? But hey! “Mr. Gorbachev tear down this wall!” was worth the strain and pain of it all! What’s even higher is our shining city on a hill . . . but then a Manhattan mourning that started, still, came crashing down in 911 emergency from unexpected terror insurgency. There must be some way outa here. Kick the machine into high gear. Grumblings here and rumblings there Theories queries here there everywhere From babel to scrablle to kabul from dachau to moscow to what now? Yeah but I say unto thee: Behold the One upon a tree raised high for all the world to see. For Dick and Hane and you and me. but only ’til that first day morn. I got waterfront in babble I’ll sell you said the choker to the forlorn and ripe with blimpty empty porn. Still it all comes back to me: that same hard truth I see. In all of history there is but One who plucked out that fatal thorn that big question mark we all death obscured by human brain on meth. So no matter what you say. I be going with him on that fateful day when last I catch my breath upon that crooked turn that we call death. I’m going with Him. We’ll rise again! Put that in your pipe and smoke it. Now its up to you to toke it.

King of Soul