Oh, rebel-eyed boy,
Not sure you understand me;
Not sure you know all the world ain’t one big toy,
And that caged birds are really meant to be free.
You just want what you desire,
Tossing all the inanimate into the chuckling fire;
Dancing to the 80s in your parked car,
Wishing on an unseen shooting star;
You’re not as innocent as your blonde curls,
You dance with boys, and wound all the girls.
Sometimes when you’re feeling down,
You turn the coastline into a frown,
Before you strangle the local circus clown,
And become the talk of the town.
‘Rebels live on’ is inscribed on your heart,
Heartache is your favourite abstract art,
And when you’re out of paint and inspiration,
You paint barriers along continuation.
Oh, rebel-eyed boy of yesterday,
Only your sins are human today;
All your soul has been demanded,
And your body just so reprimanded,
Yet you continue to spit and defy,
Flapping your demon wings faster than a fly.
All your songs are about that boy,
His face hangs from the mirror; your good old little toy,
With his heart of zeal,
And the way he made you reel,
Like a hill rolling wheel;
You’re ashamed of the things you feel.
You’re lost in the country without a route,
And you call Jesus a brute;
Taking the rosary along on your destructive pursuit,
‘Till you end up in the valleys of mute;
The places afar where there are no lies,
And where all can permeate any disguise.
You’ve grown shy and meek;
Crumbled as a fallen leaf, victim to the peck of the beak,
And Jesus is now on your sweaty neck,
But his trust you’ll never win back.
All those hours of Rock ‘n Roll,
Indignation, and the dirty letters you wrote,
Have indented your surly soul,
As if you’re a tempest-struck lone boat.
© Copyright. 2012. Raeez Jacobs