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Michael McGuire
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Doomed
You can use your head for thinking or banging on the wall,
You can use your wings for flying or to help brace your fall,
Can't tell a dreamer from a liar or the doing from the dead,
And we are the flesh of the trial for all the shit that we put in god's head.
All will burn, The fire to be widowed.
The world will probe its aching to pull its last good tooth, Creation regress to claim its misspent youth,
And I will stare down my doom like Shakespeare's blood-donor,
While the millionaires make billions from the abstract owners.
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Everyday I have to push myself forward like some kind of doubting river.
You can use your heart for blood-work or draining off the sludge,
And the never of a diary for storing up the grudge,
It's a world that spits up virgins and swallows whores in whole,
And the more flesh you give to god's bribe the more you cheat your soul.
Doomed to build a world and not live to tear it down.
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