What’s the ghost of a dinosaur to the son of a gun?
It’s a reason to leave his chamber
Down the falls out of a barrel
Poison made from mother’s whomb
Blacken her veins
Dizzy her head
Running scared by a spark
Old spirits wander the dark
This metal body is not my own
Raised by the blade
Forged by the Id
Veruca salt in her wounds
But what is a life
When it’s oceans away
My brothers and sisters are oil
What could we expect from the son of a gun?
We are children playing with matches
Perfectly flawed
Beautifully broken
Still in the chaos
Peace in the frenzy
Patiently human
We are one in the moment
And forever
Author Phil Force 