it's hard to be a god
even harder,
when you're forced into the job
~just ask google
Josey Wales
wasn't looking for a congregation,
did his damn finest to avoid one
but next thing you know
you turn around
and there they are
baby birds, stretched from the nest
waitin for a worm
so you draw a map
build a boat
invent a mantra
then plan
your midnight escape
but the cries can be heard
through the mountain passes
the mourning and fasting
travels the ocean
on swelling tides of guilt
until finally, your horse
you have to turn
and wings he has to grow
to skyward race
in search of the lost patrol
and there they are
treading water
just where you left them
the map lost
the boat stolen
the mantra your doom
the trouble with being a god
is that
you can never be anything else
