When I leave you, precious island
I forget I understand
that not all is well on our poor earth
not right in many lands.
The beauty of these mountains
the flowers bright and true
make guilty of the wanting
to quietly return to you.
From the visage of hotel rooms
I have seen the world in full
i am amputating leg room
because I cannot save you all
the goddamn hurt that people do
to other people amongst them
is a dark tattoo, a scar so true
i wonder about the women.
why don’t we rise in anger?
why don’t we talk in church?
And about the world and it’s poor state?
why are our excuses in a lurch?
i do not truck with churches much
but now I’m thinking twice
as devisive as I may have been
the option seems quite nice
Could I believe in something so hardcore
that dying was not scary?
Could I become something unshrugged
that humanity could unswary?
The fists have blown
my mind unsewn
the sunshine coming in.
The old world is waking up again,
perhaps I should invite her in.