We forget the gift that remains

Read it in the trailing smoke

Stare the fates in the eyes

On the road too black to know

Prehistoric vapors that kept us warm in winter

We will take what we can't deliver

Deferring the price to be paid 'til tomorrow

Victorious losers

Refusing to recognize our children's future sorrow

Now that we've made this wicked bed

We sleep the sleep of the self-righteous dead

There is no social consciousness

Save for the lusting envy of all kind

Only a mass unconsciousness

Our excuse to God, we were blind

We are only humans

With rotting self-centered hearts

We are lowly humans

Bring out your dead to the body carts


© 1999 by steve giacomini

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