Your Poetry Dot Com - Ballad of Nice Eyes (Song of the Sellout)

Ballad of Nice Eyes (Song of the Sellout)

I'm a hired gun,
You can see it in my eyes

I'll do anything to anyone,
I don't care

But I don't show my heart,
That's a private thing

You can get too clean
You can grove too deep

Sell out
Since I was 16
Sell out
For a good looking girl who can smile & whose heart is made of rain and waves
Sell out
For that little piece of Fame
Sell out
For a quick ***** or a fast drug

You can get too clean
You can sell everything

Feelings, CDs, everything
It's all gonna burn
It's all gonna end in fire & lightning
Feelings, CDs, everything

Don't cry
For me
Don't cry
For you

You can get too clean
You can grove too deep

I've seen a few suns rise and fall
I've been out there on the Ocean

Where the waves tell a story that soothes our angry, lonely souls,
The waves where I gave you this fragile body to hold

& it's true, he was the only one I ever cared about
& I lost him on Fire Mountain,

Where the young men crash their death-machines
Where the rebels go to dream

But I've never felt so beautiful
As when I was with you

I've never touched the scar
On the face of Buddha

Our spirits dance for a million years
Our bodies fall for just a few

I wore my sunglasses when I made the hit
I caught the train back from the house of love

And I knew then that I was alone
I knew then I had something to say

This world has so much beauty and I've got a gambler's love
Don't show your hand too soon

O but it's been so long and I've been so pure
O but it's been so long and I've been so pure

And it's been years
Since I believed
In anything but the power of a dollar

And I don't want for company when I get in that phase

Sell out
Since I was 16
Sell out
If you get wounded young
Sell out
If you buy Top 40

You can get too clean
You can sell everything

You can get too clean
You can sell everything

You can sell everything,
But I believe in Love, I believe in Love

When you kill something as many times as I have,
When you have run and run from the mark of emotion

You grow to respect it

& as the bridges burn behind me,
my heart still yearns for a moment of release, a cure, call it what you want.

I once slept beside a young man who said to me;
Even evil men who kill love, they wait.

Prophets wear masks.

(David Finn, 2004)

This poem is Copyright © redlantern2051