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Mass Production

On the road to Damascus,
with a cross in my hand,
a crown made from barbwire,
acid rain fills the land.

on the road to Damascus,
blood running down my face,
metallic thunder,
the stretch of highways,
the factories and chemicals
upon the ground of Indian graves,
as the mechanical wheel,
burns and turns the oil
gained, 'All the live long day'-
'All the live long day'-
The smoke stacks are old
and gray, upon the industrial
'All the live long day'-
'All the live long day'-
and the only song sung,
are the angry war drums,
through the mass production of
guns, and the mass slaughter of
'All the live long day'-
'All the live long day'-

On the road to Damascus,
was all I could write,
on a single page,
through the course
of night.

On the road to Damascus,
Hiroshima, changed....by
the Atomic Age,
an opera of chaos
and the picture
was framed,
on a news paper
under an old ashtray
with coffee stains,
while the Glen Miller
Band was played....

On the road to Damascus,
was all I could write,
on a single page,
through the course
of night, near the
window, by candle
untill, the truth took
hold, and words sprung like
gold, while the snow outside
was bright,
veiled, by the moon's
as the winter sky....
casting it's crown,
with a winded

Submitted: Thursday, January 07, 2010
Edited: Thursday, January 07, 2010

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