Sometimes

Sometimes 

I feel myself committing suicide

in this maddening crowd

as if a god beyond recognition

living our pretences and lies behind murderous sounds

screaming and yelling and cursing oft times

stressing the point that we're the gods of the streets

goddesses of airways of screens and coffee machines

What matter does it take if this space is not ours

if the streets are of cornflakes and air is of blood

cause we'll spill all of it there if we are in charge

pretending that we are when brandishing our gun

When we sniff our cocaine or force someone to be smug

it's the sane madness we've been harboring as we hunger for jobs

We labor for space to rest our heads

when we long for a bed without chinches within

We swallow down shit in the liquorish state

shouting brother sister come bring me some cake

Oh I feel like committing suicide as if it was all

all that was needed to salve headaches in the American Mall

to heal racist rhetoric from the political stalls

aching breaking the humane-wonder of all

So what shall I do as I wiggle and crawl

attempting to stay sane in the insanity hall

Rise up I hear rise and install

install some new vision for yourself and for all

a street without garbage a yard as a park

abort ourselves from the puritanical dark

for Death has destroyed our sense of joy

Death, the bearer of the puritanical pall

smothering embalming the most humanistic call

from the God who redeemed us by forgiving us all

Forgive forgive that's the refreshment we need

saving ourselves from panic and clearing our heads