11.22.63

it's as if everything you see back in 1963, black hearts among them kneeling. only one of them was screaming - go. they've got fire up in trees. in the balance, in the breeze. hold the trigger with some feeling. as the choir sings out of key - they sing: blood! mistrust! and the love of god! red, white, blue and bleed through the pearly gates i see dead air, an army of greed. with holes in their hearts i see making plans to mark the art, a silver lining falls apart. with sinners digging graves in sand, we land ourselves trembling hands. great god. bury hard, with all our might- we might make our mark. holding hands to choke belief. gripping people that we need. in a moment they were stealing a thief that stole a piece of me.