I’m so tired of being a saint
Under
thirteen coats of paint
And that’s all sainthood is
Leaching colors and prying lids
I’m so tired – I’ll bet you’re tired too
I’m so tired…
Blame the victims, charm the folks
Every miracle’s a hoax
While inside the inner sanctum
The softest hands bless, touch, and thank them
But life will bore right through your pores
Life will bore…
No more phony patriarchs
No more weary matriarchs
Give me lustful predilection
Earthy thoughts and hoary diction
And then may we a pleasuredome decree
And then may we…
Hands up if you’re tired of saints
Faking everything you ain’t.
© 2006 John
Brocato