Epilogue . . .

This post is in process.  This song, “Altar Boy,” is one I wrote somewhere between 2000 and 2004 (I remember I wrote it when I was teaching at a Catholic school and the letters from my mother were still coming).  I may or may not have performed this at one of our Cafe Nights (Friday night band nights).   I may or may not have gotten in a little trouble.  It’s a tad angry.  But that’s not where I am now, so that’s why this is a post in process . . .

ALTAR BOY

Verse 1

I’ve got a cigarette lit and I want to puff it,

Then all I want to do is fucking snuff it.

I know that death is not true liberty,

But the difficult truth that you refuse to see

is that altar boys don’t grow on trees;

I just can’t drop down to my knees.

Saints and martyrs ain’t for me.

Saints and martyrs ain’t for me.

Chorus

I’ve got a thorn in my side

and I just can’t pluck it.

The only thing that I can say

is “Deal with it or fuck it.”

Verse 2

I’ve got a pill in my mouth and I want to swallow,

‘Cause all you ever wanted me to do is follow.

I know that death is not true liberty,

But the difficult truth that you refuse to see

is that sons aren’t sheep and love ain’t cheep.                             

The love you sow is the love you reap.

Bleating, repeating ain’t for me.

Bleating, repeating ain’t for me.

Verse 3

You say I’m standing

between loneliness and heaven,

But that a cross and beads said on my knees

And all will be forgiven.

Well, the more I think of jumping,

the more I think of living.

If loneliness means liberty,

I’ll make a heaven of this hell.