Phoenix

Phoenix                                                 January 8, 2006

My days and nights are numbered and confused,

And I'm often questioned if I can differentiate.

To that, I quiz them, "What is two plus two?"

And see if they come up with five.

This ol' soul has gotta get his rest,

For everyday he's awake, it's a pain.

Everyday is a pain, a drudgery at first site.

Life is like living as a phoenix,

And at the end of the day, I can make all right.

In the evening, I fade to black ashes,

One smoldering, blackened heap to hide from doters,

And then I wake up in a blaze of glory,

Only to be tamed by the whip of dogs during the day.

I'm just another slave in this bastard of a world.

Still, there's always something to look forward,

And that's the time that I go home

Away from the cruelties fleshy monsters commit

And extinguish my burning rage.

I can then remember that I'm the phoenix,

And then, I just burn all my troubles away.

I'm one angry feller. If you ask me, it's a perpetual thing.

My doctors ask me why, and I reply, "Hell, I don't know,"

And that is something I say all-of-the-time.

Sometimes I think I'm gonna lose it all,

But other times, I think I could challenge God to a dual.

All-in-all, though, I just wanna be left alone,

Alone to lick my daily wounds from the ubiquitous grind,

So I guess I will hop into bed, fold wings, put out the fire,

And enjoy my nightly sojourn in this makeshift funeral pyre,

For I am the phoenix, the burning of rage with desire.