Michael De Jong – Flavour Of The Month

Michael De Jong - Park Bench Serenade
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Hoist up the Jolly Roger boys
And let this game begin.
I ain’t taking any prisoners
This time it’s either me or them.
It’s hard to stay clean
When you deal with all this dirt.
It’s a nasty business that I’m in,
You know the truth is gonna hurt.

Standing on the shore line
Of this so-called New World order.
MY advice to you friend
“You better duck for cover”.
The snake pit politicians
Feeding the media jackals.
Inside this concrete jungle
Where profit, that’s the only thing that matters.

Outside the penitentiary
The crowds where starting to form.
One side shouted, “all life is precious”
The other screamed “let them burn”.
The warden gave the order
And the switch was thrown.
One year later someone confessed
To what the man had died for.

They say justoce is blind
But you and I know
Justice can be bought.
Everyone is said to be innocent
Till they are proven to be broke.
You call this the land of equality
I call it a tragic joke.

Cinderella went to the princes’ ball
We warned her not to stay too long
It’s so easy to get caught up in the glamour
Inside those places that you don’t belong.
But she was naïve enough to believe
That love could conquer all.
Now she’s trapped down at the market
Selling slippers to the needy and the poor.

Deep inside Plato’s cave
Aristotle was trying to explein.
The mathematics of survival
To all the pilgrims who carries relics of the saints.
Someone dared to ask,
“Is this the place where they keep the Holy Grail?”
Aristotle laughed and pointed
As Solome dropped her seventh veil.

Jacob climbed the highest ladder
To get himself a better point of view.
God looked down and asked him,
“My son, what is it that you’re trying to do?”
Ï’m just looking for an answer
To how this business all began.
Cause in this quicksand of religion,
Only the losers are really gonna win.”

You can twist the words
Of every holy book
Just to sanctify all your evil deeds.
Walk the stations of the cross
With such piety
’till your feet start to bleed.
But the voice of guilt
That lives inside your head
Is crying out, “no more please.”

Behind your dark sunglasses
Where the light can’t get in.
There’s a smell of something dying
From all your moral decay.
And these isolated rumours
That adultry is really not a sin.
You say that she’s your lover
But she’s still married to him.

On these sweat-stained sheets
The disillusioned lovers take their place.
Going into every masterful position\But never face to face.
Thru the smoke of that first cigarette
She sighs, “oh, it was great.”
He just nevously smiles
And prays, that the condom didn’t break.

In the heat of the moment
He was finally forced to confess.
To his impulsive behavior
ith such malicious intent.
He swore it was love
As he laughed under his breath.
Oh, he knew all along
He was addicted, to the pleasur of the flesh.

These rivers of passion
That flow into
This barrn desert land
The contaminated blood
That’s slowly pumping
Thru these ice-cold veins
As I sit here in the darkness waiting
For the Queen of the walking dead.

Nostrodamus smashed his crystall ball
Then slowly he started to cry.
These visions I have seen
All these people that are gonna die.
Those religious fundamental fanatics
Who are just marking time.
Till thay can light the spark of the fire
In which no one will survive.

Now the New York dime-store cowboy
He thought it was quite romantic.
To keep a loaded 45 by the bed
Just to improve chances.
He would prowl the streets each night
Looking for someone to blame.
He thought that he was Jesus Christ
But he acted just like Jesse James.

We put all our hopes and dreams
Into the children of our own creation.
We hope they can learn from our mistakes
But we feed them false information.
How can they build a life
On such a shaky foundation.
It’s easy to see why they are called
“The lost generation.”

As I turn the pages
Of my last days
I can’t sit here and just be still
While people are hating just to hate
And killing just to kill,
With this gift of words
That i give to you,
Can you find the courage to fight.
Against the shadows and the darkness
Closing in on this circleof light.

My papa died in ’94
And man, I almost fell apart.
All those years I was trying to prove to him
Papa, this really is a normal job.
He had a way of telling me
“Son, it ain’t never to late to change.”
Oh, he’d be proud if he could see me now
I’m the flavour of the month these days.
Take a look at your boy now Pa,
I’m the flavour of the month these days…