Desolation, Death And Hell Poem by Peter O Keeffe

Are we all just farcical and predictably wrong?
Did the past seem mystical but devoid of any song?
Does the good we do for each other command a higher place?
Do the acts we know are kind make us a special case?

Does the evil I possess rub my soul in the dirt?
Will a philanthropic change help heal those I have hurt?
Does it really matter if my damage provokes no reply?
Will there even be a charge When it's our time to die?

The gun is quick,
The knife too sharp, The tablets make me queasy. Bite him back, fight it hard, never make it easy.

Cut his heart out
Quick and nail it to the wall
Twirl her weaselly eyes til she can't see at all
Make the current flow, steal him from that measly sleep
Sneer again as she prays, God ' my soul to keep'

Hurting people it's ultimately just what we do
Learn to care? yes? then our time is through
Attack on all fronts, break them, damn them all.
Never try to stop until we face the wall.

The gun is quick, the knife too sharp the tablets make me queasy. Bite him back, fight it hard, never make it easy.


Please I 'm scared Down here, reach me, tell me what to do?
Will it be excruciating just coz I crushed you?
Rage consumes and will wipe us from our land, We slowly burn and we can never understand.

The gun is quick, the knife too sharp, the tablets make me queasy. I live in hell, I eat the dirt,
Dying it was easy.