The Sinner is the Saint

The sunset on the gulf explodes upon the waves.
I walk the beach of misery, with millionaires and slaves.
The seagulls stalk like vultures. The children laugh and shout.
The breakers swell inside my head, calling me on out.
And as the evening slowly sinks into a bloodless sea,
The cosmos is a black hole in a waiting game for me
And my complaint:
The sinner is the saint.

The highway is your paradise and homelessness your home,
In Cairo or Jerusalem, Byzantium or Rome.
In Bethlehem’s old backstreets the pimp bestows his grace.
The whore will wash your dirty feet and the stripper wipes your face.
You think you hear some music at the dark end of the street.
The last thing Father Jim said was “Hold on ‘cause this is sweet,”
But it ain’t.
The sinner is the saint.

So you crawl on through the trenches with your ammo in your belt.
Your brains are in your belly and your balls begin to melt.
So rock-a-bye my baby, go to sleep on mother’s breast,
The best a babe can hope for is a night or two of rest.
Somewheres in this universe is a thing that can’t be sold.
Your mission is to find it before your courage starts to fold
And you faint.
The sinner is the saint.

The soldier in the wheelchair is a heap of lost ideals.
He knows from first hand knowledge that even Jesus steals.
And Sister Dolorita, with her rosary in her lap,
Bows her head to pray for you, as you fall into her trap.
You think you got a snowball’s chance to win this crooked game?
The angels sent to cleanse you, they’re all demons just the same
With no restraint.
The sinner is the saint.

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