The Joker's card marks page twenty of Uncle Sam's Biography
Its stained edges rot between the pages-- its surely bigamy.
I've flipped through daily, always gaily, but never understanding
Whether after a million deaths i'd still be left standing.
As I sat beneath a great oak tree and flipped through
Detections of the Joker singing passed my ear, its true.
But I wouldn't view the lyrical content of what it drew
And forgot to flip all the way to page twenty-two.
Only reading what was superficially written:
Tales of love and missing her which were so typical
I overlooked the content deeply smitten
That was introspective and neve stereotypical.
I never saw the words warning me of black greed
And money stained in rotting corpses who did bleed
Who were killed by an unchecked want but not a need
So that I kept blindly dealing to mislead.
I walked into the church of the poisoned souls
And met a priest who had a deadly mind
He preached repression and misunderstanding-- foul
I thought that I should run and find myself
Wherever I collected dust up on a shelf.
The joker sang some more about page twenty-two
But pretending to be deaf I let him shoot me dead
Not caring, apathetic, and weary of him too
I laid deep in the bottom of a cold lake bed
With Uncle Sam's biopgrahy open to page twenty-two.
