FINGER FOOD

FINGER FOOD
2/90

King of all that I survey
There ain’t no recipe
This highway gives your eyes a glaze
There ain’t no guarantees
In the mall the soldiers dance
Children cry upon the laps
Beggars try and take a chance
To get their bread for free

Highways, bi-ways, heart implants
We cling delicately
To time we’re wed, there is no dead
Only a vacancy
In the schools the rules combine
The children learn to stand in line
Until you find that they were lying
Unless you never look to see

Lies in between the pews
Truth is out in the street
In the book they paw for truths
And live so incomplete
Children cry to get outside
Stand in line and open wide
“Body of some guy that died”
But what’s there to compete?

Is there nothing else to eat?