Book of the Dead (Play at passion)

There's revolution in the streets of Cairo tonight,

And kids in Ohio holding solidarity signs

Sipping hot cocoa and cheering at cars passing by-

But me, I'm dying a little bit tonight.

For all the bleeding hearts being weighed

Against feathers, and being found heavy.

Fed to the beasts of their own desperation

Chained and chomping at the gates of hell.

Oh how hollow it all rings

To the men in suits passing by

Watching their kids play at passion

Before slipping off to get drunk and fuck

Tell jokes and take drugs without a thought

For all the men dying in the streets tonight.

Spare me your revolution, your misguided

Delusions that you're not the reason why

Honest men are fighting in desert streets tonight.

So raise your banners high

Chant and call into the night

Excuse your nihilism

With empty activism

Pump your fist in revolution

Sip your cocoa, your childish solution.

My Heart. Is Broken.

This is the end, the little death

That's been hanging in the wind,

And I wonder

Like a bird flying from a perch

Unobserved

If it was ever there to begin with

Or a trick

Of my death seeking senses.

My heart

Is broken.

These are the only words.

My heart.

Is broken.

The feeling of shriveled souls

Tears welling in a wounded chest

The mortal coil of deep love

Unwinding in my battered breast.

My heart.

Is broken.

So much suffering

In so few words.

All the nights we spent

Twinned and twined

Hopes and dreams

The swell of your chest

And I lay spent and pressed

Head on navel

Cradled between your legs.

My heart.

Is broken.

These are the only words.

Object Desire (The commodity of breasts)

Object desire

Fools, playing with wrapping paper

Their fucking hands

Always reaching, groping

At any gift left unattended

Minutes or moments

So eager to put their dick in something.

Object desire

The commodity of breasts

Given scarcity

Gives birth to desperate men

Pants and small throbbing cocks

All riot and unrest.

Tell me, tell me, tell me

Make me feel like a man

Tell me, tell me, tell me

Baby, tell me I'm in demand.

Object desire

All the plastic people

Prophylactic discourse and desperately

Talking each other out of their clothes

All the pretty girls

Sitting behind window sills

Wondering if they're people too.

Object desire

The innocence afforded

By being half aware and cheap

My conscience is low

But confidence is high

So baby, let me take you home tonight.