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
What’s it to you?
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 scrable to kabul
and back again to babel
only what the fates will allow
from dachau to moscow to what now?
Yeah, yet I say unto thee:
Behold the One upon a tree
raised high for all the world to see.
For Dick and Jane and you and me.
but only ’til that first day morn.
I got waterfront in babble I’ll sell you
“i will tell you blah blah i will tell 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 rendered death undone
who plucked out that fatal thorn
that wound from smut and porn
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.
