The land was it hard on you
Was it only right to let you choose?
Sodom was an evil root
Now your family tree is proof
They did what they’ve done what they’ll do

City there’s a prayer for you
We didn’t want to see your future doomed
If only there were forty true
If only there were ten, My Lord, please move
You moved and you’ll move and you move

Lot was I cruel to you?
I didn’t want to turn your wife into
A pile of sand all around your shoes
When you see death now will you move?
I did what I’ve done what I’ll do

The morning was it kind to you?
The fire light and the sulfur fumes
Sodom was a poison root
The Lord has moved to cut you loose
Oh can you go where you’ve been can you move?
I did what I’ve done what I’ll do

Sodom (Valley Maker cover)

Misfortune's plagued us all.
Destroy these voodoo dolls

someone must've made of us
with joints of rust -
someone in whom we trusted
with all there was.

"Gloom always begets gloom" -
you said, with voice of doom

and the stance of a queen
beside her king
facing the guillotine.
As its blade gleams,

the rabble shouts three cheers.
Love swiftly disappears

from eyes, once bright with hope,
now short in scope,
at the end of their rope.
And I can't cope,

so I'll fill my glass with luck,
and share with you my cup.

Next year, we'll rise from dirt
and show our worth.
We'll get what we deserve -
it's our rebirth.

Why are we boats instead of planes,
anchored to depths and short in crew?
Propel us up above the clouds
'til all we see is hopeful blue.

An Ill-Starred's Resolution

Mary has a niece -
fourteen, but precocious;
bruises on her knees
from praying on the tuffet.
"Please, Lord, get granny rid
of the cancer in her pancreas.".

Word spread faster than it.
Her skirt's too revealing
and rises with the wind.
She must do it on purpose.
That girl's provocative.
The villagers get uneasy.

Dan's boy has got the itch.
The devil's got his hands
and hormones in a twitch.
We all know who's to blame -
"That girl, the devil's bitch;
she's taunting our holy work!".

But the girl was naïve,
kept attending the service,
praying for inner peace
so hardly that she ended up
biting her lower lip.
A wound had been opened.

Marked by a carnal kiss,
there was little room for doubt.
"Let's send her to the priest!
He's our last hope!",
and, so, the girl did,
and knocked on the priest's room door.

The priest lit up in bliss.
"Come now, girl, what did you do?
Come here and kiss the ring."
Confused, the girl wept.
"Let's wash away your sins.".
I wonder what will happen next...

Mary's Niece

After Christmas came the frost,
and winter's brought another sun
that widened the Atlantic rift.

On the eve of the world’s birthday,
I couldn’t share the same joy,
as we gathered on fireworks
and you summersaulted the seventh wave.

As your body was submerged
during the last midnight ticks,
you read my thoughts on coral reefs
and prepared a new year’s wish.

And, with the lack of shooting stars,
we shot the sky with neon lights;
careless if we left the clouds scarred.

They poured throughout
the exhibition
and halted
after
the last rocket
collide.

We couldn’t find words to describe
how much we felt it as a sign
that, no matter how hard we wish,
we always miss, we always miss.

Fireworks (Edit)

Auld Lang Syne

My knuckles are urging to punch these bedroom walls
so everyone can see how damaged this household has
become; to get bruised and whitewashed because my
cry for help look isn’t doing the trick.

I’m piercing my ears with distortion so I don’t
listen to the intolerance these spooks keep spewing,
but it always finds a path through the noise and loops
in my head like a haunted musical box.

I dream about better places to lay my head
because this pillow’s as soothing as a megrim.
I keep these headaches busy with pornography
because it’s my only way to discharge.

I wish every natural disaster would congregate
and obliterate this goddamned place from the world;
just give me some time to pack every material
thing in here that keeps me in control,

then take me away, wash me away,
disintegrate me, and keep me that way
until I’m safe. Just make me safe;
I’m not even asking for happiness these days.

Prayer To Holler (Sketch)

Pictures of him all over the house,
and ours on a private folder
hidden in your cloud account. And as I
remove the bra strap from your shoulder,
I can still see some love bites from last night
and smell traces of his odor.
It both flatters and hurts to be an escape,
but I can’t help but get closer and closer.

You know exactly how to dress sometimes
and there’s wit on the tip of your tongue.
I want to absorb all that you transpire,
nip from your mouth until I’m drunk,
and, from all that that dizziness inspires,
merge with your body to make us one.
And if this love is getting you tired,
know, babe, that it has just begun.

The Beginning (Sketch)

Cold Feet (Lost Lander Cover)

No Halo ( Sorority Noise Cover )

It sounds like what you need’s a way out
and I can’t give you that because I can’t get out.
You’re the motivation I cannot live without,
though you can’t see that and I can’t see how.

We should’ve met five or six years ago,
when we shared the same carelessness and aimless goals.
Now we have to focus on the long term, and you know
we can’t give each other that, so that’s a no-go.

Maybe we could join forces,
but there’s a high chance we’d slow each other down,
and it’s precarious to pick up the pace in this on-the-clock town.

We need someone a couple of stages ahead
to pick us up with a leading hand, but instead
we’re left rotting in this rabbit hole we dread
with trimmed claws, knowing we are better than that,

though we’re already rearing
our close friends and the stability they found.
Aging works a bit differently in this on-the-clock town.

We’re out of sync, and our phones are dead,
and the payphone’s busted since nineteen-ninety-seven,
and it wasn’t used since nineteen-ninety-four,
and there’s no one to fix it, and nothing to fix it for,
so the lost ones are left to leave out the proverbial door.

It won’t welcome you in,
but will lock you inside,
though it’ll seem like
it was you who decided.
Kafka would’ve been proud;
maybe slightly depressed.

It sounds like what we need is to find
a trick to turn around being far behind,
because even preys have their way to strive.
Now isn’t that fitting for our current lives?

I’ve given you my arm;
it’s up to you to hold, chew, pull up, or pull down -
whatever it takes to make you through this on-the-clock town.

The Bedroom Session