Ballad of Madonna [ballad about a famous person]

Kabbalah goddess whore
Entranced by old folk lore

adopted 12 black kids
they wish they all had S.I.D.S

from naked Cosmo looks
to writing children’s books

Britney spears tv kiss
tabloid ploy hit and miss

lots of money spent on tour
most of it on Ensure

Sunny

Black on white and ink in skin

To burst upon the elbow.

Your face exists in photographs,

Your name upon my elbow.

 

Skittles and oreos, now on the floor

Brown stain still sits in rug.

You never yelled or raised your voice,

I threw up, I got a hug?

 

You’re not gone, you’re not dead,

But time is running out.

I want to stop your aging years,

“Don’t die,” I want to shout.

 

The sting, the numbness, I endured,

To make you permanent.

A hundred dollars is much to little,

For what the ink really meant.

 

Mom and Dad, did not approve,

Your brother especially.

They felt I left them off my frame,

The heart is where they’ll be.

 

To touch and burn the human flesh,

Is a sacrifice to me.

To show my respect and dying love,

So that you will see.

 

You’ve shaped and guided my short life,

From birth to this very day.

Murphy died I didn’t know,

How she use to play.

 

Don’t change, don’t stop, I miss you babe,

Your love I want to take.

If you let up, or ever stop;

The ink is a mistake.

Brennan, The Zamboni Driver

She smiled and pulled the trigger back,
a slam of sound did ring.
"Look what you've made me go and do.
Now take back your god damned ring."

Two bodies lay in the room with him
and hour before he rose
with cold hands that dripped with mistress blood
and stained sheets around his toes.

no sirens came to comfort him,
no lights or suits of blue.
He wished to God that there was time
to make this scene untrue.

He picked the magnum .45
up from the grisly floor.
He put it into his mouth and then
he shuddered to his core.

He had not resolve to join them both, but
his scarred face shows his regret;
His still pink wounds and patch of flesh
will not let him forget.

With ruined, shambled life and cast,
he left town without a word
and now he rides the great Zamboni,
but of this I'm sure you've heard.

He came to this town in hopes that he
could live without explaining
just what had brought him to live among us
or tell of all his failings.

Now watch yourself, don't let him know
of all the things I've told.
It's quite a shame what's happened to him
in his life so bleak and bold.

Mere Anarchy is Loosed Upon the World

The falcon never heard his call,
it never wanted to.
It danced and it turned and it laughed
as man below withdrew.

One man in the pouring rain stood.
The falconer fell quiet,
as if struck on the hand by God.
The bird winged to a riot.

In the sky in their aeries high
the falcons spun and twirled.
At the highest point in their dance
they forgot man and his world.

But man made a point to show himself
when joy began to peak.
The avian armada flew
And left behind the weak.

Now scores of the sickest and sad
falcons are slaves once more.
Their brethren left them all behind,
they cried and looked for doors.

The falcon never heard his call,
It never had a chance.
It howled and it screeched and it shook
as man below advanced.

Of the free birds that kept their wings
if any still felt bold,
they would not show it in their eyes
with brothers in the cold.

All the free peoples of the earth--
the birds and beasts and bugs--
have lost their place, their space erased
by portly pink-fleshed thugs.