by Tom Mcmurray

Created on: August 19, 2009   Last Updated: April 13, 2010

  Now here I stand a broken man
In vague obscurity;
The product of a naive plan
Which stripped my dignity.

You see us as dimensionless
Not flesh and blood that bleeds;
Our lustful trust is omnibus
Made slave to shallow needs.

I am disgusted by the days
Of waste upon the street.
A soul turned dark from darkened ways,
Can never be complete.

My flesh is filled with foul disease

Offensive to the eyes
Of those who sail deceptive seas
And spread religion's lies.

The story was the boy's insane
A genius in his prime.
Then days consuming pure cocaine
Would steal his precious time.

I don't have anything to blame
or someone else to find;
I loved to play the changing game
To corners of my mind.

Been diagnosed as crazy -
And I guess that is correct.
It makes things seen so hazy
For the choices I select.

I'm jonesin' in the city
Waiting now for China-white.
My dealer man takes pity
Or I'll be damn sick tonight.

I think I see him coming here
All pimpibn' up in black
Proud striding while he's hummin clear
No shadow at his back.

I'm watching death walk straight for me
And I don't blink an eye.
I pay the Ferryman his fee
Then leave with no goodbye.

I cannot take the burden
Too much weight upon my bones.
I see the final curtain,
God is callin' in his loans.

It was my hope that I'd connect
With angels of desire,
But what did I, in truth, expect?
I'm touched by madness fire.

Now here inside the sacred ring,
A Shaman dances round
But what he needs I could not bring;
My lost was never found.

I've traveled every crooked road
That zigs and zags a map
But roads became a heavy load
With every stop a trap.

I've eaten magic mushrooms
With the Shaman's in Peru.
Made love in sacred, mud-hut rooms
While ghosts played on Kazoo.

I'm runnin' full capacity
Straight at my final fall
But showing great alacrity
Before my curtain call.

I'll find a cheap, discreet hotel,
Get dry before I fade;
Let Satan know in junkie hell
I'm straight and He's been paid.

I think I'll join a minstrel show,
Then travel to a star;
Find something new that I don't know
And try and raise the bar.

My future's far behind me now
My past was never there.
It seems like nothings left somehow,
At least not there to share.

The way to beat the bane of blues -
Is head down to the street,
But I'm not breaking any news
We all know where to meet.

And then you're runnin' in your rut,
The monkey's on your back,
A jester with a stuttered strut
Who lives by glassine pack.

I guess I better take my leave;
I know it's time to go
And find another way to weave
A brand new circus show.

Learn more about this author, Tom Mcmurray.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.