10 December 1998
Bhodi Tree

He sat underneath
-Divine inspiration-
You’re numb to all the grief
It’s called ‘self-medication’.

So how long now?  I get no answer
Was I ignored by the bastard or you?
Most people tell me you’re one in the same
Must admit, now, differences are few.

Everytime you strike the flint
And blow out grey, I take a hint
I place myself further away
But I still pick you up as you come down.

You take the fall so easily
Some may suggest, gracefully
But when you ask for moral support
It’s almost time for life support
And no prophet is watching over you
I am all thats looking out for you.

So inhale until death dances
Past your window
Past your tree
I watch grey inspiration
Slowly fill your room
As your hallucination
Dances free.

To clean your lungs, scrape off the tar
I’ll put your limp body in my car
And drive you to a big white room
So they can pump you with clean air.

Just one week this time
Or will it be two?
I silently pray for three or four,
But after sixteen days again
You’re lying on the floor.

This time it was not clouded grey
Sinner came in liquid form
Veins surfaced at the very thought
And by the break of dawn...

...I had you back in the white room
But they closed the doors too soon
With one hand on my shoulder he said
“This time moral support was not enough
And life support couldn’t beat the stuff..
...Cardiac Arrest” he said
“It’s probably for the best he’s dead,
Go on home and rest your head”
But I could not move, my feet lead.

Three weeks have passed
And each day
I sit underneath your tree
And I wonder if you can see me
Blowing out smoke that’s grey
Please forgive me, I have nothing else to say
I’m just trying to rush the day.
And I know J.C. has disowned me
So to see you again
To Buddha I’ll pray.