Prophet of Sod

My Grandpa told me ‘fore he died,
"The greatest sin of Man is Pride.
Best never see the City, son,
Don’t ever leave this mountainside.
It’s yours since you became a man
Just make it pay as best you can,
Or someday it’ll all be gone,
A sacrifice to Babylon."

Since Grampa’ was a proper fan
Of God and all his Ten Commands
The parish loaned him resting ground
On proper consecrated land.
There’s some begrudge his little grave,
(Which others think befits a slave’s)
But it’ll grow as rich a lawn
As ever grew in Babylon.

I’ll credit him for dying brave.
He never bitched and wouldn’t cave
If life was tough, but he was strict,
And now it’s time to misbehave.
I’m planting up a sea of green,
The finest crop you’ve ever seen.
The guy who showed me how’s a con
Who shat some time down Babylon.

I’m more than used to living clean
But more and more that’s living mean.
Now sitting high on harvest time
I’m wond’ring how it coulda’ been
My ladies bloomed a pound apiece
With buds enough to spare for grease.
I copped a ride from Sullen John
And trucked it down to Babylon.

We talked about our newest niece
And kept an eye out for police
Before a pack of bikers showed
And took us for some lambs to fleece.
The city steamed from off a way
Its skyline’s shroud was filthy grey.
But hell if I’d become a pawn
To all the sins of Babylon.

The wicked men held us at bay.
I warned them there’d be Hell to pay,
"Repent yourselves and flee or else
You’ll never see another day."
So when they forced us to the ground
I prayed to him whom I’d been bound,
"Send lightning Grandpa! Cast it on
These scavengers from Babylon."

They might have fed us each a round
‘Cept right then straight from out the ground
A rumbling’ rose beneath our feet
And lightning from the sky unwound.
It made the wicked men explode
And rain down dead upon the road.
Towards the sun that brightly shone
We drove away from Babylon.

I never sold my mother lode.
Instead I used the grass to goad
My virgin brain along a course
Away from what the city showed.
A pliant mind is all it takes
To learn from all your life’s mistakes.
And now I needn’t scrape or fawn
For table scraps from Babylon.

There’s nights I dream, right wracked with shakes,
Of needing truths when stuck with fakes
Until the balance point is pressed
Then stilled and calm my soul awakes.
To visions of the other side
Where Grampa’s shade is satisfied.
Consider, friends, next risen dawn
What price you’ve paid to Babylon.