Patti Smith. A woman. She is benediction and the root connection. She is connecting with me. Because Jesus died for someone’s sin but not mine. The words are just rules and regulations to me. ME!
I was just walking down a hallway, drinking a cup of tea when suddenly a rhythm was generating from somewhere. Then something happened, and then I was surrounded by horses.
And on one of the horses was Patti Smith. She started to laugh hysterically. I danced barefoot.
But in the sheets I discovered I was dancing around to a simple rock ‘n roll song.
The empty hand of innocence
Transfusing street of the sorrows
And children of the wood
Hounded, shredding off veils
Unwinding all the sheets of the dead world droning
Laden with silver sacrificial birds
Beating goatskin drums
Advancing With hands outstretched
And we keep filling them with mercury
Baby bombs blasting blue
Scavengers picking through the ashes
Children of the mills
Children of the junkyards
Sleepy, illiterate, fuzzy little rats
Stoned out of their shaved heads