Free agents seek like mental patients
many holy boats adrift at sea
why do we believe those propped up
in corruption thick society
when was your last trip to the dump
notice any stench fumes or funk
this smell our rotting rotten world
taste see touch hell
what lies behind the lies we hide
plain sight pretend it isn't night
can you picture paint brighter way
one conscious of Nature's harmony
tough to get dirty work done
hangin' there on fence line
the choice is simple daughters sons
host devils or channel The Divine.
Day Gun