Trading Down, Folding Cash
We dreamed of being golden men
who met in dead of night
our loins all girt with unstained
steel
our faces polished bright.
But hatred in men's hearts aglow
empowers darkest light
tearing in to paradise
on a powered flight.
Where shields are seen as burnished
brass
where fall the walls before they
rust
where eyes are bruised by nicks of
tines
where man returns to dust
The ferryman plies his dead-end trade
with sticks to freight his loading
careless that he'll never be paid
his currency foreboding.
The weighted soldiers mountain climb
from bush to last ambush
the drummer's roll has just begun
when shove gives way to push.
Truth tumbled like two troubled towers
whose time had come around.
Did any bodies notice
when God walked into town?
