Thirty three years of Evolution

To finely tuned mediocrity

Another abandoned revolution

One more poem lacking sincerity

One more guitar never learned to play

Just one more girl afraid to kiss

Just another pound of flesh to pay

How did the poem ever come to this

How did the kid with the big brown eyes

And the loving heart and the tender smile

Such a cruel and callous plot devise

To forsake himself in such fine style

To forsake himself and his forsaker

To bleed and bleed and bleed once more

Upon the cross just like his maker

Like some Bloody sawdust on the floor

Like some Bloody martyr without a reason

The Bloody vein recently sliced

The running wind without the season

The Bloody corpse of jesus christ.