The Ballad of MDG

Behold my brother, he’s just been born
& his mother feels nothing for him but scorn
Here is my brother, he’s just turned one
& the violence & fury’s already begun

See my dear brother? Now he’s turned two
& it’s a sin and a crime what he has lived through
His face has been broken before his bones even hardened,
he’s been groped & been fondled & more he can’t pardon

So now, here’s my brother, poor child is three
& terribly desperate to get out, to get free
And look! Here’s my brother, he’s made it to four -
and he’s treating his sister like a bitch & a whore

Now comes my brother, & of course he is five
& each day he regrets and hates being alive
Say hello to my brother now that he’s six –
his mind has been fractured, so now he’s a schiz –

-ophrenic, that is, for those who don’t know
& from where he now sits, there’s no chance he can go
Anywhere else but into madness sublime
& drinking hard liquor helps numb his mind

Fast forward to sixteen, he’s left home, been kicked out,
& become a Marine – he can kill, there’s no doubt
Which way will his life go? Well, what do you think –
‘cuz now he’s got access to drugs and hard drink

He served his home country at Guantanamo Bay
& came home to be homeless, walk the streets every day
Shouting & cursing, reviling his life,
each person he frightens another cut of the knife

That rips into his heart, increasing his fear
that his much longed-for death will never appear
In ensuing years, he sinks lower & lower,
his thoughts are all bloody, his dreams filled with gore

He curses each bottle as his hand brings it up
but he just can’t stop drinking from this dread, bitter cup
"Either kill me or heal me!" He cries out in pain
to a God he’s not sure of, "please help me regain

Some semblance of living, some semblance of life –
I’m lost to my children, I’m lost to my wife"
"Please take this load from me!" He daily cries out
"Let me know how it feels to be sober, dried out!"

Then in his late 30’s, it is all lifted from him –
the addictions, that is, not the demons that run him
He wakes up in asylum, a straight jacket around him,
with no drink or addiction to suppress & confound him

& now, here’s my brother, in his 50’s, hair grey –
he’s long since been sober, yet it’s fresh every day
As he deals with the world as a ball-bearing salesman
on his quite best behavior, he’s so afraid that he’ll scare them –

His clients, that is, to whom he’s devoted,
but then when he gets home, he checks his gun – is it loaded?
See, there’s always that out, in the corner, just waiting
for the day that his madness gets too loud, too berating

& he finally chooses to set himself free
from the prison he’s lived in since before he was three
Each day of his life he faces such choices
& does what he can to drown out the voices

Ablaze in his mind, malcontent & unkind
who seduce him to thinking life’s best left behind
In his hurt & his pain
(yes, he feels quite insane)

He wishes no harm on anyone else –
his best & worst enemy is only himself