Behold your face and mine,
Follow, rhyme, rhyme
Guide us?
Rhyme the tool of the common man?
Poets milk of the promised land?

Let me show you then, after you've filled
the paperwork;
After you've entered my country, ah yes.
I suppose you weren't alerted:
Here,
Where the river's frigid water betrays you with a kiss,
We have no collective, no communion,
No common man.

Here,
Where heads talk and suits proclaim:

“Here, we are I,
Our commandment above all?
Fragment, and keep.
Keep to oneself, and keep away.”

Carnally, nothing dwells,
Spiritually we're a bit dusty
Like a cracked floor in the Arabian desert
Or a broken vessel, which spills oil
Or spills blood.

Kick a snare if they're happy,
If not, kick and sneer.

Still, come, children,
Children, parade,
Bring with you all the sons of Ishmael
And the sinners among you,
The adulterers and liars,
Bigots and unbelievers,
in God and humanity.

Bring them all,
Lend them a call,
'Til every cheek is dry,
And no more, no more,
Pain, crying,
'Til every back is dry,
When the bells of the alabaster city
Ring out to every hill, and canyon,
And proclaim, when they proclaim
The old order dead.
And all eternally together,
Eternally one.
Completely mine,
And still yours.