We Called It Africa

i bought a new copy of Bat Out Of Hell
this one won't get borrowed or lost
digitally remastered cd, crystal clear sound
memories of my youth coming to me now
smoke filled cars and whiskey bottles
searching for something more
in the cool midwestern autumn night

"let the altars shine"

as the music played the miles swept along
until i was somewhere i could remember
we called it africa, and it was filled
with the sounds and colors of teenage revolt
and the heartbeats of dreams frolicking
unaware

"let the altars shine"

i stopped the car, i couldn't go on
the tears flowed like the whiskey
of my misspent youth
houses
shiny cars
cement driveways with basketball ornaments
africa was gone
and so was my youth
slashed and burned for the new dwellers of my
maple leafed midwestern dream
people coming to escape the violence of the city
the crowds and the madness
bringing with them a new teenage dream
of counterfeit rebellion
clean cars and flavored water

"let the altars shine"

and when i though my heart could sink no lower
the sudden weight of adulthood crushed me
sent me racing down the highway
screaming at the broken windows of grown up reality
these words hurt
how could love be so cruel?
how could life be so cruel?
no
more
love
songs
i can't hear these words
they only remind me of things
that should never be

"let the altars shine"

in a dreamlike rage i wept for hours
every new thought more hurtful than the last
(nights)
i knew my weakness got the best of me
(nights)
i slept alone
(nights)
i should have done something more than turn my head

my breathless soul now reached for something long forgotten
a memento i put away for a night of last chances
a checklist of my worldly conquests
and in the shadow of my own mortality
i slipped into a suit i once thought i had outgrown
standing on the edge of this world
one foot trembling to find ground in the next
my conscience pulled me out
and said "i've been waiting for you."

"let the altars
shine"