Acid America

His trips are void of trains

But the tracks up and down his soul

Lead him to daytime nightmares

As he mumbles incoherent

And then screams at the demons following

He boxes the air, punch drunk

High on his own devices

Staggering into the street

Hoping a semi cures his pain

And sends him back to a safer place

His gods messed him up

So he says to no one in particular

But if you are near

You will hear his demons too

Fucking his head like some two-bit whore

The moronic left pass him like some screwed up disease

He is not the ninety-nine percent

No poster boy for the loons that mock America

No better are the right,

Their asses planted in pews, pissing on the world

Yet here we are, a nation just the same

Disconnected from everything but the truth

And when the bums are washed away

Other’s fill their places in the cardboard shit holes

The needles are endless and death is dirty

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