Indentured Attitude

The grandfather clock is shouting syllogistic headroom warnings
Telling all the ghosts within to hold their head up high
Because he knows that wisdom matters and upon the window splatters
Little bits of joy with every bird that can be fooled

Yes, city-stationed sisters sit in silence as they pray to pockets
Hoping in their highway hemlock to have a happy time
But as they mix their lifeboat lemons with a lingering decision
They soon realize that everything they hold dear is simply dull

Catatonic cosmic cronies crooning chronic cryptic calls
Are crossing Jesus on the Friday at Golgotha
If only adversary wishes and the aspect dinner dishes
Of Martha and of Mary could be harnessed for such good

Yes, believing diamond dagger dreams are destined for epitome
That level-headed leisure languishes those who know to bluff
Never-handled autocrats with orators and deaf mallrats
Even Cesare Borgia knows it is neither papal nor is pure

Corrupted catcalls coming from a copious cavemen crew
Who sit upon the stew of sentenced subway cars
They wait for form and formulas that prove their holy worth
Standing at the birth of both banal bundled bores

Imagine all the nightmares of the daylight crawling through
Your open dead-end tomb that sits beneath the plotted plain
As unknown cards and paper priests provide the happy hymn
A dirge awakened bursting from the flames that never die