Eastern Medicine - Western Illness

I write to you in sorrow

From these fading thoughts I hollow out

My tired brain

And broken limbs

The spark between the dead

And where I come from matters least

The sickly west, the healing east

The orient I paint for fun

In tomes of great despair

Maybe jesus was chinese

I never cared about these things

Whether God is man or woman

Never fed a friend of mine

And in these thoughts

I find surprise

At where they take me when I smoke

For all my life, I‘ve been ashamed

Of many traits desired

They always take your babies

And they chuck them in the grinder

Where they‘ll churn out rags of silver

For the men in lonesome castles

Who would never think of others

When it comes to feed the plenty

And they‘ll never walk beside you

Lest you‘re standing in the way