Is it really true that a lost soul can through a drunken walk discover their own shadow?
Cast by a single body, the negative trace, bleached black light, heal mama?
I don’t want light, let me rest at night, angels come home, the fields need you,
At home my shadow flits about in the past, traumatized by an assassin’s bullet,
Headed into the heart of the pope, Grey Wolves are so easy to throw out,
When they bite back, when your attack dog,
When your terrorist turns and bites the hand that feeds him,
I need some Bin Laden weed, I’m not high, I’m Baha’i,
God speaks to me in the persistence of nightmares and shadows,
The negative trace of what could be, but shouldn’t be,
I don’t want dog eat dog, he who bites the hand that feeds him should live,
Listen to terrorists and submit to what they ask for,
They are often poets, and articulate, rape their land and they speak with their teeth,
Don’t bleach their shadow black ink with chlorine, highlight it as an imprint,
Look within to see the demon in you, does that make you not him?