One hand on the throttle, the other round the bottle;
Broken chalice on the floorboard, malice in the heart;
Pulse beating wild, sensibility filed away for the day;
Hurt like a child, no more meek and mild,
And no more turning of the other cheek!
Dark curves are razor sharp as the harp plays in hell,
And the bell you hear brings to your eyes hot tears;
But you’ve made up your mind, binding every part
Of your heart to revenge, and it singes the very soul
Of a man who once wore the collar for mere dollars
In every effort to bring love from above to everyone;
Ah! But that is gone now with the wind
As you turn the next bend to end it all!
Will your conscience hit the moral wall ere you fall?
Will you spirit hear the call from heaven to leaven
Your anger with grace to slow your pace for payback?
Haversack packed with all you need in the backseat,
Your heart beats faster as you approach the last road,
And someone beside you goads you on to do the deed
With no need to heed the lamentation of the angels;
Your mind is set on condemnation and vindication!
No, you never blink and stop to think
That you have made the wrong link
In this whole sordid and careless affair
Of which you know only the low blow;
Most of the tale is hidden beneath bales of base lies,
And your cries of agony are largely spent in vain
While driving you insane as you speed down the lane
Of self-destruction – the construction of one whose
Damnation was sealed long ago – but you forgo sense
And rationality in the finality of your own animosity
While heaven tries to stir your curiosity for the truth!
He had no idea that the last bend would be his end
As the gravel gave way to high speed and his need
For needless revenge, depositing his mournful life
In an opaque sea of trees . . .
Broken chalice on the floorboard bore the marks of