I don’t have an honest inclination to reflect br On why I am not now or have never been br A part of the whole picture thingamajig br Or why every wildflower under the sun has conceded br To the superiority of the ramble weeds br That they of the many varieties have been forsaken, over all others br And the brambles should then reign the more powerful seed br Being carried by the winds and birds to the ends of the earth br That hellish thorns and twisted vines of overgrowth should br Block the blessed path to Man's epiphany br Of being crowned the chosen one at length br It is that we must now take and trek the hard cold truth br Remembered to all the Angels as mere mortals br Mortals who have tasted the forbidden fruit br From the hand of our own former rib br And who without a guitar or harmonica reed properly tuned br In the key of C br We are just so many weak men worn from the rock of ages br Nothing more than simple grains of sands so to speak br Or just so many men as Dylan said who are trying in vain... br 'To ease the pain of idleness and the memory of decay' br Our words as toiled thought are left drenched and written in blood br On acid based paper, manufactured with only tempered grace br While Union Camp and Weyerhaeuser cut down an old forest br And then replant crap br To print the latest paperback edition of a revised King James br br And as for me.... br I who am determined not to matter br Sit in my retirement chair on wheels...hovering around the issues br With my crutches at rest next to my dead dog's best friend and my br Rare and imported hollow wooden leg with the cross bones tattoo br Drinking in the poison prescribed to me by a Doctor Woo br Watching as my face splits, divides and begins to die… br Reflected in the mirrored eyes of a fly on the wall of my room...