Salad Days and Lunacy

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pueblo fantasma

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In darkness, we blind mice could only travel
By the rumble that could crumble stone and trees
This harbinger that was all too familiar
Huddled closer we walked right into the scream

And I've got burning blisters on my heels
From pacing back and forth around the fields
Of experience and what I can remember
Two different planes, neither of which are real

And I'm not quite sure
What we're heading towards
But let us not succumb to that which we have bore

I've reached the point where I must take a side
A feral dog or lab rat chasing dimes
I don't assume much but I feel the latter
Would founder at a much too frightening height

So let it stand I may become a drifter
Upon the seas of salad days and lunacy
The paradox of church and state scriptures
Dismissed by ears and pissed into the breeze

And I'm still not sure
What we're heading towards
But let us not succumb to that which we have bore

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