Black Sheep

A dreamer who dreams in a language the blasphemous speak in
A practicing heathen
Attractive to demons
A modern day pastor who preaches with passion
The passion of Jesus
A tv evangelist laughing in the back of a cream Benz
A bounty hunter like Duane Chapman and Leiland
In a mask
Dancing with evil on the closed casket that I sleep in
Cheers to crack that I breathe in
I look up and see the Vatican’s ceiling
And a pterodactyl staring back from a tree branch
I raise my hand up to feel it
I squeeze it
Then feed it the meat from a T.Rex
The slaves of the planet would rather keep the magic a secret
And make a myth out of a miraculous event
The last thing I want to do is add to my regrets
It’s not a lie if the Phantom believes it
Slob Opera…
.
I’m carving my success with a butter knife blade
By wrapping white gauze around the trouble I’ve made
I refuse to remove the blood on my face
To remind you of the struggle
For the love of my name---
In a rainstorm thinking ‘what a nice day!’
I don’t need the sunshine to colour my day
Or the words of Jesus to govern my faith
Or the love of people to cum on my face
The son of Dice Clay in custom white shades
Black leather jacket
Studs in my name
Pissed off protestors rushing my stage
With pitchforks and torches up in bright flames
I love myself like I called my son Saint
But I keep yelling at myself like someone I hate
Staring at the mirror seeing someone I ain’t
Like the old me’s asleep and tucked in my grave
Slob Opera…