The fallen hero returns from the valley
of the shadow of death across the weary
shoulders of the most beat angel busted
wings in tow singing the 23rd Psalm of
David and how the Lord is my shepherd
I shall not want and all that jazz in order
to render his soul to the purification of
spiritual pain meanwhile a flock of gulls
fly over in a missing man formation far
above the green pastures and still waters
where we have been led like father like
son heads anointed in oil, cups that run
over as a rapper rhymes hova, hova, hova
over and over for a heart filled with gold
since the Good Sheperd’s rod and staff
reined us in protecting us from sin and
enemies aplenty and since then goodness
and mercy have followed even when we
were falling, falling, falling, forever into
the bottomless pit where on the way down
another voice was heard saying emancipate
yourself from mental slavery or so it seems
since the truth remains that the spirit of Zen
lies in the house of the Lord where the King
eternally sings there will be Peace in the Valley
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