Valen, Mocky, Georgie, Johnny Happy We remember back to years we knew them all, Valen, Mocky, Georgie, Johnny Happy and the paper dolls. The misfits from the hills. The hicks from the razor-sharp streets, The change from Brown to Green, once the storm bleached out the heat. Taking in all the sensations of the awakening. They were prisoners, weak to death Strong in mind, yet always quaking in a shiver. In the cold house of steel, Those who danced, those who'd construct, Deconstruct, shatter, and then wilt. We knew all that was beginning to change. They will be colored in fevers They will have burning coals in their chests They will battle their wars tight in a jar They can die in silence, or as the night becomes berserk. They will continue to find the distance, from their wives and children. Oh, we are all getting older White hairs crawling from each of us - like wild mice to cheese Those that'll chew holes through our shoes. The boys and the mannequin stares, the Danny O'Day doll's eyes, a novelty we all are. Living in the nightmares of grapevines, barbwire for the butchers. Friends from childhood to distant shadows - absorbed into delusions. We used to be tender, family, unbound, and free. Asleep allowed to leave the trenches. Gifted, wrapped as a holiday present - Away from all the borders. They choked us from power. One by one a new demise. Thwarted in the dust. Fighting the skeleton inside. And the memory pops like bubble wrap. Little green wings of fire now tipsy and burst. Drunk and tiresome. Woozy, scared as they remove our food. The heart lives on like a patch. How long will you feel my love? All of this bleeding becomes breezy Like an infinite painting of crimson wind, still framed and lost is our revolution. They will carry us out like stuffed animals taking too much room. Evict the mites, so what is left can breathe. The riots yell sounds soft in a madman's dream.