(from the Red-Zone City—to be played upon the mandolin)
There is no sense of the sacred
in this red-zone city.
Here they venerate the severed head
of Edward Teach
and stroke his beard for luck,
here they dream in unwashed beds
of mischief and malice.
They believe that they cannot be seen
beneath their time-distorting crystals,
but I can see, and I have seen.
If we cannot leave this red-zone city
then let us find our heaven here
between the clouds and mountains,
beneath the shadow of wings.
Let us share the bitter-sweet
communion of grapefruit flesh
and mercy from beyond the stars.
The foot of pride will not crush us.
We will drink and be drunk
in the river of pleasure beneath the light of light.