Ox tracks



I had to cut them off.
They had me bought and sold.
They plot against my love with my fears in their hands.
I climbred into bed with no will to refuse them.
If for just one night.
In my haste I had to cut them off my flesh.
I bought our lives in bulk.
Refused sacrifice.
I would not concede with this damn curse that hinds my blood.
I am lost when when my blood guides my hand and chooses to ignore.
When my personal passover is a failure to discern an obvious liar.
They write in anger that what they own is theirs, and they replace charity with a hollow gesture.
They recruit angry fools to replace the old law that was handed down to them and fulfilled with their own sick and twisted games.
They can be kept with little effort as no one checks but once a week.
And only but a few will make them turn their heads.
They tithe as a purchase of right.
As a pack of liars they set themselves as the standard, and put you in your place where you always belonged, but were too foolish to understand.
Sub to their culture of pretenders in their white sheets that will sway easy to their will.
I had to cut them off of my flesh, I had to separate the head from the body the way that I would any other serpent.
Grown men told me they loved me then disappeared.
Grown men demanded apologies of me.
None were given.
But I've bit my tongue and checked my heart.
I cut off my flesh and I conceded my fear to flee.
I was left behind while our business took its seat in its rightful place.
In the hearts of business men.
I am lost.
I was questioned and refused.
I was given something you could say was a gift.
But I do not.
Free is cheap and what's cheap is tossed.
It's what we are taught.
And in that we have always trusted firm.
I have faith that this promise will not be overturned.


Oh, these hypocrites!
I was right!
They are their own enemy.
And only represent their own wants and needs.
Why have you fooled me?
I have no will to entertain them.
His heart, it whispers lies that he's beyond reproach.
Beyond reproach of men.
That there is no room for those that question their need for distractions.
Defy the though that I have anything to offer based on the cut to your ego.


Come on loyal woman, I gotta hear that wild ox moan.
Come on loyal woman, I gotta hear that wild ox moan.
I think heard that wild ox moan.
I think heard that wild ox moan.
Come on loyal woman, I think that I can hear that wild ox moan.
I think that I can hear your heart beating, but can you handle the depths to which I will sink to satisfy myself, and stomach my needs.
Does your loyalty shake at my secret deeds as I do?
Would you judge me before I have finished my own story?
You've seen me, you don't look away.
Can I trust you?
For several years I woke in sweat that I murdered that boy under the north wall.
The weight on my heart was so heavy it would heave and vomit often.
Of the devil's family now; as the fantasies of a justified kill in Topeka made me just as weak and ill.
And to you men who fail in their hate, I am your voice.
Come on loyal woman, I think I that I can hear that wild ox moan.


My friend is fragile and will break if words are not in perfect order.
I can profess my love and it can be an insult.
My mood and meaning were detailed for my contrary to its intent or truth.

I will incite a wrath designed to break a man and I expect challenge.

The rabbit trails and tears I've indulged to be fair to something I can not understand.

I will incite a wrath designed to break a man and I expect challenge.

I have no heart.
I can demand that this has no business in this business but that does not make it any less real, or here, or right now.
We bitch and moan, but our prologue suggests we're spoiled.
Do we create a conflict simply to overcome when we rely on ourselves?
Or is this as real as pain and it has only been hidden too well?
I confess my heart tells me both.
It suggests a void in my faith.
I promise if I see your disgust, I will go for your throat.




If something could be done about the pain my words bring, it certainly would not be by my own will.
You have seen my wickedness.
Soothing it with smoke neither calmed it nor distracted it from its target.
It threatened the very days I had left with no consolation.
It only left a bad taste in my mouth, yet to be outgrown in time.
My questions go unanswered like many have complained before, but I never want to admit how weak and foolish the heart is in secret.
It's dormant on the best of days.


I am a merchant who fills this land with the novelty and nonsense that withers wills.
My struggle is to keep with what country demands, and family deserves.
I put the bread in the mouths of my best and last hope that this name earns honor.
It will be the first.
I am a purveyor of bullshit and landfill, and broken dreams.
Oh look how I've made an inheritance of others' ideas.
Most of which should not have left their lips.
I fear that my usefulness has expired.
Yet you won't let me go.
I am in a race to produce things to buy to eat things to make more things.
I don't have the tools to withdraw myself.
We are not hearty, we are usually fallen ill.
Is it the tough conversations that warrant our stay?
See I am powerless and take no pleasure in hard battles of words won.
But is this my story?
I struggle to love right here, the shadows that pass me by.
Why should I leave my land?
I question the motives of those I should prop up on my shoulders and carry; but not my own at my time.
I will not leave my land.


I am a slave to serve my seed, and balance its sick needs.
Nothing but pain.
If it is tipped either way but straight down the middle of its cold heart.
I am a slave with no will or purpose.
It keeps me all night head deep in endless talk.
I do not identify with the secret and prudent whisperers who seek to lie, to hide their ignored sins.
Instead I let myself be haunted by cruel decisions our youth lead us.
Still let the guilt of used up girls punish my nights and guide my days.
Under my roof is my challenge.
I am a slave, and right now women are stepping out of little girls of mine.
A motion in play for a decade so close it went unseen.
Make my way for them in fear.
In my wake, for my own.






My fear has a stronger resolve than my will.
And makes me out to be uneasy and erratic in fact.
But in the abstract, that is where the art is.
The milk I know that I should be trading in for meat.
The big picture accused of being conspired by men.
Where the word of god was a casting call for those of like fears of change.
I trained with fools and watched simple questions root out the foolishness in myself.
It leads to no acceptable end.
Only more lies.
My will has a stronger resolve than my fear.
It's been called a venom that's poisoned friendships that should have shaped my new life.
In truth it discerns the bullies from the bullshit, teachers from the tools.
Either way it is messy and destroys the will.
Do not tell me that you love me.
It's a lie that you do not have the stomach to see through.
Just stop.


The world was undone.
We were beasts running rampant.
Our lust was in our mouths with the law to justify its purpose.
We had our own ideas of what righteous was and we staged it all of our minds
It was dishonest and a little bit cheap, but it made the way for our war anthems.
Our love was weaker, so we drew from our hate.
It's all we had.
We could fight our foes if we became the beasts that we claimed to slay.
Ignore the strings.
We had created a new law, and no one forced our hands.
You were replaced by our needs.
We bought our righteousness with what we had refused.
Like all laws...
Fail or flee.
I failed the law.


It was demanded that we wholly submit ourselves.
For our grand ignorance, it proceeded you.
We could not be trusted at all to be guided to truth without their knowledge guiding the way.
We found an old role reborn and Americanized.
Cold in its way.
What's dead is dead.
I will not serve the law.
Dead is dead.


There's a word hidden in the ground as sure as my voice.
My travels in the past did very little to prepare me for today.
To dictate my hates and lusts, to form an anthem to incite that same reaction, it fell short.
Where trailblazers set forth a new rebellion, and cried like children when it came back home to deplete their fortunes.
We can not choose our effects without the risks.
We can't pick and choose our mark on the world when we believe our own lies.
I found worth in words that were not mine.
I seek a path to be content with my failures in the works, and my journey.
I've been a dead man before, in spirit and in flesh.
In both cases my will is not what saved me.