(dedicated to Sutton the Red and my brother Chris, out on probation)
I grew up here amid the trailers
outside this backward Oregon town;
Ever since I was two
they been tearin the mountain down:
now they're building mansions
and boasting of the view.
My little red-headed pal and I
would play cowboys and Indians;
though there was plenty of shootin'
only plastic died:
the other night he called me
(sloshed from a bar)
soon he's off for Iraqi front lines
where the modern Indians are.
My other buddy was a wild one,
wouldn'ta backed down from a gun,
just a lad in Texas,
Chris Siens he fought the law;
they locked him up in prison
but you tell me who won.
A few miles away there's a billionaire
with gold and silver in his hair:
he commits evil crimes around the world
and the law don't seem to care;
I knew his grandsons Adam and Matt:
the first was one beautiful cat,
the other was a brilliant brat
as narrow-minded as a rat.
It's almost Christ-mas
and what would that gentle Jew think?
he'd redden the whole of Crater Lake
and drink...
and drink...
and drink.
Once upon a time
I visited Thai Bangcock,
twas truly, hellishly sad:
Fire burned every street and dock,
tormenting the good and the bad:
the truly wicked,
whether their skin was yellow or fair,
shared cool brothel air
and whether they spoke English, French or Cantonese,
they each ate from a golden dish...
as a hungry peasant girl
labored on her knees
So wave them stars and stripes,
vote for the party of Clinton, Bush, or Blair,
and string up miles of merry colored light;
cause that wild hermit Nietzche
had one thing right:
God is dead
Democracy's sun is setting:
art, might, and wile
shall rule the coming super-human night
