Sunday, September 04, 2011

Agent Orange Shooters, On The House

Category: Poetry/Lyrics

The butterfly floated harmlessly,
Lost and free in its own universe,
Getting by the best it could, an innocent straggler struggling
As the invisible wind beat the shit out of it, slapping it to and fro…

To some it flew,
To some it was carried,
To some it simply didn’t matter,
But it was painted a brilliant orange by what some call God nonetheless.

It was just a cockeyed brilliant cog in the endless machine…
A Rembrandt tossed in nature’s blender,
Dead but so alive, colors mashing one against another…
Oblivious to its own brilliance or purpose…

Then one day it landed on a harmless leaf in a bright field,
A horizon filled with mother nature’s vomit.
Poppy’s… Daisy’s… Hungry weeds and vines feeding on
Anything they could latch onto.

The delicate butterfly rested in the anonymous green field, blissfully alive,
Screw the vines and the flowers and everything else, the air was so fresh.
Until the horizon was consumed with brighter flames from an errant bomb,
Mistakenly addressed to ‘militants’ clothed in drab olive camouflage.

The field was a grave, testament to power and nothingness all at once.
And in some village on the other side of the world,
A sick little man drank his tequila, watched the war on TV and angrily decided
It was time to beat the shit out of his kid, some bug got in the way of progress.

The butterfly never felt anything, it just hummed along,
Suffering without shame,
Celebrating beauty without realizing it.
Meeting death as it met life, without remorse.

Until the field erupted in deadly vines that didn’t want to cling to life,
They only wanted to kill whatever could be killed.
The butterfly never knew it was a flower that could come and go as it pleased,
Until it was too late to realize anything at all.

And as the boy swallowed tears of pain he would never understand,
Halfway around the world at the hands of a tormentor
Called Dad, a sick twisted fuck all too familiar and gross,
He vowed to kill every useless, dangerous butterfly he could ever find.

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