A Dream from Regards by The Father

The flies on stools and prostitutes and sailor boys are in cahoots
A frenchman knocks the lights from Uncle Sam
And my ex-girlfriends and those to be are all complaining merrily on what it was I was and who I am
To become
And the lights are tinted bloody murder
Flags go up in flames, casting shadows on the wall of fallen angels
And the drugs and sex and booze and flooze
The bartenders with attitudes and cigarettes
And birthing hips and tits galore, they strip like whores for tips
And you can almost taste the whiskey as it tumbles off the rocks
Or faintly catch the bursting of their bubbles as the lines of reasoning change lane
An altar boy cries on a holy shoulder, so cold and unforgiving were his eyes
So we phoned the pope in searching for an answer
And fondling his crucifix, replied
"You've got to question my superior"
But the son of god was on the lamb, so Dionysius raised a glass
A toast to selfless martyrdom and love
To which we laughed as others cried
Made jest of thorns buried inside and choking on these thoughts
I cough them all onto the page
So it's away boys, before anyone has nothing left to say
And as we pass, masks fall to the floor
These faces have all changed
One last shot in the dark, another failed word
One last glance at the scene before it turns to ash
Where are the saboteurs?
Where have the jesters gone?
Where is the masquerade?
The stars I wished upon and shot out of the sky?
Where did those piggies fly?
Wherefore art I, I ask
As it all fades away

• Acoustic
• post acoustic
• San Diego