Father God, some days my heart

Is like the world dancing to the the beat

The hollow beat of pampered hearts

The loud beat of folded ears.

Deaf to all the cries of the distressed.

Oh Father, the shallowness of this people

Hollowed out minds in a death dance.

Hearing meaning only as a dream.

Hearing dream beyond all meaning.

There themes are human love.

Man towards woman - the glamor

The cold insensititve glamor.

Of tight alluring skirted pop singers.

Singing of sorrows that are souless.

Man and woman under the beat.

The beat of cold idols, blunted

Burning in the lust of worship.

The beat too loud for compassion

The tears too plastic for comfort.

The sufferer sings from yaughts and pools

Platinum Guitar; all is comedy, the beat

The death beat.