Walking Stick
Spoon Fed from a dirty plate
A diet designed only to agitate
A veil of pride and gospel truth
To cover the hidden fist that he used
And I wont say a word
You’ve sewn me in my skin
Hyposrite, Walkingstick man
Silent grave
And the sunken heel kinda slows me down
Dogs and children lift their legs
To tattoo a teenage mothers breast
Widows of precocious days
Wear slogans of resurrected late
Parables for wooden ears
Steer vehicles of wisdom
All the wisdom
And I wont say a word
You’ve sewn me in my skin
Hyposrite, Walkingstick man
Silent grave
And the sunken kinda light my way
And I wont say a word
You’ve sewn me in my skin
Hyposrite, Walkingstick man
Silent grave