Kansas

Posted on Jan 01, 2005 | Tags: | Comments (0)

Toto, I don’t think I’m in Kansas anymore,
When I went in I was me,
But as soon as I walked thru those church chapel doors,
I had a spoon full of salt reality,
And when I walked back into the air of the life I used to live,
I knew that something had to give,
Because the people I thought I knew so well,
Were living under a heavy spell,
Of liquid dreams,
And lollipop kid ice cream,
Chocolate filled cupcakes,
Watching Half Baked,
For the 500th time,
Never thinking of new rhymes,
To bring to this old scene,
They were content sing-ing,
“We represent the lollipop kids,”
And trading dollars for lids,
I knew I just couldn’t live
In this same old societal bliss,
Because it was Judas’ betrayal kiss,
That would tell me as soon as I ate the very last bite that I had just eaten a bucket full of poison,
And that these beautiful, ripe boison-
berries I had just consumed were really rotten,
And then I would be lost and forgotten,
On the side street,
Selling my fleshly meat,
For another sweet
Dose of corruption,
So as I stood staring in the eyes of an old lover I knew I was done,
And reminded him he was staring in the face of a loaded gun,
So I clicked my heels together three times,
Feeling altogether sublime,
Saying, “There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home, there IS NO place…like home.”
And the clicking of my shoes becomes one with the metronome,
Click-clock, Click-clock
Tick – Tock, Tick – Tock,
Goes the clock,
We ain’t got no time to waste,
We need to work together to paste,
Back the pieces of this creation,
Before Jesus decides to come,
Whereunto we will become one,
And return back to where we came from,
But until then I continue to click my heels,
And watch and prepare for the time when He will reveal,
What He has chosen to conceal,
Because Heaven is His throne,
And the earth is definitely not MY home,
And I cannot condone,
Evil anymore,
It’s what in myself I abhor,
Which is why I remain on the floor,
That I could be a mover and a shaker,      
To shake off the dust that has collected,
And to cry out to those who feel rejected,
That He doesn’t care if you are one bullet away from another Columbine,
Because when you drink His Heavenly Wine,
You’ll take the gun,
And point it at the one,
Who is responsible for this mess,
Who is the weaving thread of deceitfulness,
And on you will be able to press,
Receiving abounding forgiveness,
For your unrighteousness,
And in your distress,
You turned on a dime,
Now feeling altogether sublime,
Repeating….
“There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home, There IS NO place…like home.”