This title ain't mine. It's from Zora Neale Hurston's iconic book Their Eyes Were Watching God. It's a concept piece with no boundaries. The idea is dedicated to a mysterious byrd that whispered in my ear.
Takin' a hit of 100pct pure oxygen,
looking out the psychedelic rainbow window,
eyes stained by the acidic rains,
lookin back at me,
I made a right turn, down at Onley and Fern,
thought I was catching an express train to the Free Artist's Society
I remember living in Camelot,
cutting the corners off moldy bread and drinkin' cheap communal wine,
didn't have an idea of crucifiction of the craft,
nor cats offering sponges on the tip of spears soaked in vinegar and brine,
I guess everthing that goes down, gotta come back up to go down again,
funny how that cheap apartment felt like paradise,
but in reality the owner didn't pay the back taxes so the spot was condemned
Boy, you better hurry up and catch that train,
ain't another one comin' for bout 99 and one half days,
hell, maybe I should'a drifted on those Camelot memories,
or woke up like Jimi in a Purple Haze,
heard a homeless cat say one time,
brother there is peace in anonymity,
yeah, but maybe I was seeking the rainbow children,
or perhaps a form of Ebony equanimity
Temanent houses goin' by, every once in a while
the music stops for a storefront church,
yeah, the House of the Holy Damned,
or the Glorious Voices of the Besmirched,
hey Gurl, look what dat bytch is wearin'
now you know she shouldn't come to chruch like that,
excuse me lady, sorry to interrupt y'all vibe,
but you ever think maybe that lady is a reformed street walker,
who just got tossed from her pimp's Caddy-lack
Maybe her EYES ARE WATCHING GOD,
heck, maybe acidic eyes are watching you and me,
be that as it may, could y'all chill wit the doggin'
least until the preacher man finishes his homily,
just a suggestion
The competition is fierce, yes it is,
voices straining to be heard above the rest,
but everytime the train breaks for a turn,
those breaks screamin' like a Howlin' Wolf,
make it impossible to tell one voice from the rest,
the conductor says over the loud speaker,
all those in need, come to the front passenger car
to recieve the BLOOD OF MY BLOOD, THE FLESH OF MY FLESH,
but in the midst of all the burlesque,
ain't nobody want to be the first with sins to confess
Wait a minute, ain't that, hell yes it is,
that reformed street walker with the lopsided wig,
she's whispering, "bless me Father, for I have sinned"
but folks think she's a spoken word art-tease,
tryin' to take over the Last Train to Clarksville gig,
people leapin from their seats,
a big cat wraps a cord around her pretty neck,
I hear the preacher man say,
"Yeah, teach that worthless bytch a little respect"
Them gurgling throat sounds got a rhythm,
yes they do, cats start composin' to the throes of death,
let me pause dramatically in this here piece,
this is the part where that street walker took her last breath,
only the click-clack of steel wheels on rails,
make a sound, ain't no voices strained by calf-fiends to counteract,
I take a peak out the back window,
all I can see is a steady stream of blood on the tracks
A news flash alert comes over the loudspesaker,
"We have just received word a flash mob on an express train,
killed Mary, the mother of Christ,
seems God told her to disguise herself as a streetwalker,
seems too many hypocrites were slippin' through the gates of heaven,
tryin' to sell the devil's contraband and vice
THEIR EYES WERE WATCHING GOD,
or maybe some eyes were too busy watchin' you and me,
either way, it don't matter Mary,
the hellhounds on this here train,
have the only voices that can be heard above the caco-PHONY
Her body is starting to smell man. How much longer this train got to go?
Damn, we're only at the tunnell entrance. I'm just wonderin..IF MY EYES
AND THEIR EYES WERE WATCHING GOD, WHO IS WATCHING US?