Jeroboam

Jeroboam dreamed a golden dream

Of golden lands and golden things

And ivory-colored feathered wings

Voices in the honey breeze

Pushing on the honeybees

And shaping beds from fallen leaves

The Writer showed him all of these

And filled his nose with pretty things

And let him taste of Eden’s trees

But in the Light came a warring sound

Of greedy blood on Hallowed Ground

Jeroboam and his heavy eyes made a civil war inside

His tongue stuck stiff behind his teeth

His voice got tangled in his grief

And Jeroboam made a thief, Jeroboam made a thief

So the Writer penned him a different tale

Where proud get caught in homemade sails

And crave the jewels on the wedding veil

Jeroboam cried for more

Clutching at the temple torn

The Writer filled his hands with sores

So arm yourselves with empty hands

When looking at the Promised Land

And find yourself a wealthy man.