How can anyone really see through my eyes,
When my words and thoughts are filled with lies?
How can I assume what sits in your heart,
When we have been different from the start?
How can I love the world and the people all around,
When love for myself has been trapped underground?
How can I have hope for the coming future,
When my understanding of the past is impure?
How can I conquer my fears of death,
When I haven’t taken a single breath?
Hell can be a fun place,
Pleasure throughout the space.
Hell is a spot to learn,
Your identity earned.
As the Devil is God,
He is the fishing rod.
You need both in your life,
To make yourself your wife.
It’s a confusing tale,
Repeating without fail.
It is the tale of you,
Please try to get the clue.
It is a story that is told in your village and mine,
A story that exists within the sacred body’s shrine.
A story of the Hero, oh so devout and strong,
And what I will ask you to do, might seem a bit wrong.
This story is different all throughout the world,
A story with various details as it is unfurled.
In my modern home, the Hero wears many faces,
Ah yes, in America, the Hero covers all the bases.
The Hero is Jesus, but more than what is told in the Bible,
Ah yes, the American Hero Jesus is a whole lot more tribal.
He is great at football and fitness and sports,
And he is a masculine man, so he never wears shorts.
He owns a house with a nicely painted fence,
And his accounting is perfect, never losing two cents.
His family really loves him, don’t forget the cuddly dog too,
And a Mexican helps with the yard and especially the poo.
Jesus wears a big cape with the Stars and Stripes,
Drugs? He wouldn’t be caught dead with those types!
Beer is of course fine, he is truly a man,
But too fruity of drinks aren’t ever in his plan.
Lastly, he is rich! And he worked hard to earn it,
When he was a kid, he never learned “quit”.
He is the American Hero! He isn’t the only one.
In America there are many Heroes, doubling the fun.
If you should see this Hero, somewhere in your mind,
I have only one recommendation, once you make the find.
Sneak up slowly behind, the Hero might hear you come,
After all the Hero is smart, no one ever makes him dumb.
Carry a knife, and make it hidden under your shirt,
For you are about to make a stab, and yes, it will hurt.
Slit his throat, as he is looking the other way,
And watch the Hero’s blood go off with a spray.
He falls to the ground, looking you in the eyes,
Still with a smile is how this Hero dies.
The Hero is dead, American Jesus is gone!
And now, in your mind, a new God will dawn.
For God is not interested in your imitation,
Thus making Heroes everyone’s limitation.
Kill the Hero! Before it is too late,
For the real you is not bound to his fate.
Carry your Cross! The only one you got,
Not a single Hero’s Cross needs to be brought.
The cowboy walked through the dusty old town,
Looking for ladies, gold, luck, and renown.
Dreadful bandits stopped and shot their loud guns,
Making way with stolen loot from bank runs.
A dusty standoff was had at high noon,
Our cowboy hero shot and killed a goon.
He stepped by, the sheriff was not impressed,
He was on the run away from arrest.
In the dry desert, he camped for the night,
Sounds of the Indians gave him a fright.
An old chief approached, hatchet in hand,
And sat beside the cowboy in the sand.
“Welcome,” he said in a deep and warm voice,
“I see that you haven’t come here by choice.”
The cowboy looked up surprised at the tone,
Kindness was not expected to be shown.
“Now come with me,” the chief said with a smile,
“You won’t be restricted a single mile.”
They stood and they walked under the full moon,
The night was now light, and they sang a tune.