
“All’s for the best
In the best of all
Possible worlds,”
Says Pangloss,
A man who uses
His reading against
The Human heart
As Candide sees it
Drowning in the sea
And his egalitarian
heart has no place
In the best of all
Possible worlds.

“All’s for the best
In the best of all
Possible worlds,”
Says Pangloss,
A man who uses
His reading against
The Human heart
As Candide sees it
Drowning in the sea
And his egalitarian
heart has no place
In the best of all
Possible worlds.

I’m a foreigner
Airborne, soilborne
Uprooted, misplaced;
Faces look ugly
People are strange
When I am a stranger;
I can’t go back home
Either, anymore, forever
For I’ll be a stranger there;
But go you to anywhere
From where you’re born
You must needs to be one.

An astronaut may orbit
the earth in spacecraft
and colonize the moon,
but an astrologer watches
the constellations of stars
that house the spirits
like he’s done for thousands
of years from the sacred
stairs of the ziggurats of Ur
and tells of the stars
that made us.

That violet violence
That wild wantonness
Streams from all their
Actions and countenances
Tranced in blind madness
Chanting a license to murder
A prayer for autonomous power
To obliterate a cry for help forever
They are maenads undercover.

Walk around
Turn around
You’re the one
Who knows better
In this grim town
You’re the stranger
The faces lit ashen
The shadows unseen
Beneath the sun
Ride on the wind
Chase the eagle. Move to freedom.
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