The Hollow Kids

Hollow children stand at the school gate in lines
Hollow bodies, hollow souls, and hollow minds.
There's no cure for this kind of listless apathy,
Not in text books,
not in completing the square,
not in the Spanish-Cuban-American War,
not in Stienbeck's Grapes,
not in the Latin root for many,
not in four-four time,
not in uno-dos-tres,
not in Cable-in-the-classroom's Native Tribes of Southwest America.
Is there no cure?

Reality Check

What if life just wasn't real?
Then what're all these things I feel,
What if life wasn’t real
Wounds like that will never heal.

What if you exist, only in my mind?
Your colors fake, my sight would go blind
For my eyes see nothing, but my mind much.
You're so close, but I don't dare to touch.

What if God was indeed God?
Where is my staff? Where's my rod?
There's no one here, No one's home.
I'm shriveled up, I'm so alone.

What if love was just a dream?
Everything less than what love seems.
Love is gone; everything up is now down.
Love is gone; everything down is…still down.

What if life just wasn't real?
Then what're all these things I feel,
Gushing, Rushing through my troubled head?
Toss me, turn me, keep me out of bed

On the Range

Let the stars in the sky
And mom’s apple pie
Take me home,

Home, Home on the range,
From the odd and the strange
From the terrible and weird
The no-mustache-full-beard
From the colors and tints
Gold hoop earrings and squints
Take me home.

Let the God up above,
Give just us all His love,
Take me home.

Home, Home on the range
From the culture and change
From the deserts and jungles
Dialects, tongues, and mumbles.
From the skirts and turbans,
Funny spellings and wordings
Take me home,

Let de facto protect us,
And the churches collect us,
Take me home.

Home, Home on the range
From the worries and pains
From the poor and the hungry
The naked and the struggling
Turn mine eyes from the war,
From the tattered and torn
Take me home.

Let a warm wooly mitten
Strike the kids we keep hitting,
Take me home.

Home, Home on the range.
From Able and Cain
Toss out the good book,
Soak up Doc. Phill’s look
From those too fundemental,
That we’d be so ungentle
Take me home.
Let the world around me crumble
Not me though, I’m too humble.
Take me home.

Home, home on the range,
To my money and my vain
To my people like me,
Keep the strange on TV.
And what would I do,
Sans beer and junk food?
Take me home, home on the range.