There's trouble in the so-called Emerald City. |
Walking under ladders with a black cat in tow, I have four hours thirteen minutes to go. The triskadekaphobics' ball is at the Green Zone, baby. It's on tonight. You better believe it. Put my salt and pepper shakers in my black satin satchel. Gonna pour it on the fakers. May my antics fare well. The triskadekaphobics cower at my delight. Hey, I know the score. You better believe it. Life ain't the same when superstition rules. So I break from the pack and play my own game. Going left foot first to the Emerald Palace where young Christians party waiting to burst. Life ain't the same where fear reigns king. So we're pretty much screwed, blown up and lame. The bomb's at the gates waiting for the B-Mer. And this palace is where destiny awaits. As I stride into the foyer past the hall of smashed mirrors, I wander past the office of the source of our crisis. The triskadekaphobics shimmy to a hip-hop beat. My ears don't lie. I don't believe it. When I hit the dance floor, I brace myself 'gainst the uproar of the marble-shaking stereo that moves the anglos. The triskadekaphobics shake their asses at Saddam and made his palace their playground. I don't believe it. Life ain't the same when superstition rules. So I break from the pack and play my own game. Going left foot first to the Emerald Palace where young Christians party waiting to burst. Life ain't the same where fear reigns king. So we're pretty much screwed, blown up and lame. The bomb's at the gates waiting for the B-Mer. And this palace is where destiny awaits. And when it's time for dinner, two people cross their knives. Another two swap their gloves, knocking over candles. As a nation limps to summer fighting for their lives, car bombs roast the ailing doves, the food of the rebels. The flames slink 'cross the table. The ballroom melts to gold. Someone runs into a wall and brings down Saddam's portrait. Like horses fleeing the stable, the youths cannot be consoled, instead dashing through crumbling halls contrary to sloth-like habit. The triskadekaphobics can't handle the breach. I go for my satchel, unearthing the wares. And then I throw them up into the air, let them fall to the floor, out of the staffers' reach. And let the shakers sprinkle their wares through the halls.... I make it out in one piece after the world goes boom. Smoke and concrete dust should summon the police. But police do not exist in the lawless land where Americans live like kings. The Iraqis are pissed. I make it out in one piece to watch the staffers writhe in blood, ash and screams that will only increase. Life ain't the same when superstition rules. So I break from the pack and play my own game. Going left foot first to the Emerald Palace where young Christians party waiting to burst. Life ain't the same where fear reigns king. So we're pretty much screwed, blown up and lame. The bomb's at the gates waiting for the B-Mer. And this palace is where destiny awaits. |