A purple sky arrived the night I returned home to empty arms,
so ominously calm.
A lovely bitter breeze hung over the wet cliffs beneath my trembling knees,
and whistled through the trees.
Down the way, the city lamps were bright as day.
Through the haze, they flickered wildly as they swayed.
No parade to welcome me back to the city I despise,
too busy getting by.
The gates were open wide, so typical of these folks to devise
so timely a demise.
The stench of human waste made haste to complicate the scent of death and fate
and so I had arrived.
It’s a pain, the petty tax to not be slain,
so too the stain of frugal feasts and pseudo-fame.
Dressed in shame, the shadows must be paid before they fade
into promises and games.
This is hell.
Can I leave with you now?
Could we soar and find a way out of this town?
Can we go to a place where no one knows?
Because I’ve been so down, hanging around in my home town.
I’m sick of the sound and the sights and the crowds in my home town.
On the main street, they beat their meat and sell kebabs that taste like feet,
with rosaries for good luck.
The cobbled roads, once cute, played host to toothless, lubed, unwilling prostitutes,
and manic topless jocks.
Broken spines and bottles take out eyes.
Steel-toed boots lay waste to screaming, curled-up youth.
Bath-salt bouncers, enraged, crumple dying, date-rape victims into pulp
and throw them down the back stairs.
I caught a glimpse of 20 pipers lying face down in the mud, at dawn,
waiting for the storm.
His Ponzi scheme falling apart, Lot sent his daughters to the cardinals,
who ran the virgins out of town.
Trumpets blazed and beckoned down the rain.
Drunkards swayed, still drowning in old pain.
As they prayed, the urchins slit their wrists into the Nile
and died after a while.
This is hell.
Can I leave with you now?
Could we soar and find a way out of this town?
Can we go to a place where no one knows?
Because I’ve been so down, hanging around in my home town.
I’m sick of the sound and the sights and the crowds,
the bottled up pain, the corroding brains,
the love so distilled by triumph of the will,
the cows stuffed with cash, the Dali moustache,
the insecure pricks, the self-shackled chicks,
the food thrown away, the murder parade.
I’m fucking appalled, I’m sick of it all
of my home town.
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