
The Kelly Song Collective
Hey, Mr. Hitchens
Hey, Mr. Hitchens,
I’ve read you in the bathrooms and the kitchens,
in cars,
park benches, and bars.
You took on all the lies
of angels in the skies.
The truth is to be found
with humans who lie in the ground.
Crescents, crosses, stars,
and mutilation scars
will crawl without a flock
right back and under a rock.
Your torch weighs forty pounds,
but every flame resounds
with evidence at night,
of reason and logic and light.
Enemies will doubt.
I will call them out.
To those who would indict me:
Hey, Mother Theresa can bite me.
Comrades I know
the fight will never end
because the faint of mind
refuse to face
the ever-loving fact
that they’re drinking poisoned wine.
Cancer got your throat,
but everything you wrote,
and everything you said
is hiding somewhere in my head.
If I could tempt you back
with Johnny Walker Black,
I’d buy a case today.
You could drink half of it on your way.
​
© Audsongs 2014
