“I don’t believe in a judgment day where the wicked explode in a fireball. Maybe we’ll all just have to say, ‘I’m sorry.’ No winkies, no crossed fingers.”
-From the liner notes of Flyover Land
What’s that hole that you’re diggin’?
Is it for someone I know?
You seem to like what you’re doin’—
That’s rare as professionals go.
Please excuse me for askin’,
But it looks like a face from my past.
You painted him and you kicked him in
While he was still breathin’ fast.
And I don’t believe you.
I don’t believe you.
I see right through you.
He’s gonna get up and walk away.
He’s gonna get up and
Make you say, “I’m sorry.”
This ain’t no game that you’re playin’.
No, this is somebody’s life.
A man who works a hard livin’,
By walkin’ the blade of a knife.
I know you know what the law says.
And you can twist a good phrase.
I know you love a post mortem party
And the money that it pays.
I seen your kind before mister.
A legend in you own mind,
Who can’t contribute to anything
Except for the art of being unkind.
You little dynamite artist —
You’re deconstruction defined.
You say you see things more
Clearly than me —
But you’re blind, blind, blind.
“I Don’t Believe You” appears on Flyover Land.
© 1995 Marques Bovre