On his deathbed the poet made
arrangements yeah you know
Necessary to make his peace
with his life but not the people
He met along the way people
in his family who treated him
In a bad way they simply didn't care
back in the seventies they harmed
Shaker with their terror tactics
they didn't care about the child
Disappointed by his parents
as an adult he turned tables
Endless psychological games
only alcoholics know how to play
Ask them whether or not they knew
they turned a blind eye
To his older brother and his cousin
upstairs laughing as the boy screamed
Holy terror of the dark soul destroyed
by people he trusted what a mistake
Believe me when I say he made
arrangements with people
Endgame plans to destroy
not his family but their families
Despite years of bad blood he made
sure they would remember
They would be forced to watch
their own adult children and wives
Helplessly watch as men trampled
with horses over their loved ones
Endless torture comes to an end
once his brother and cousin learn
People are people from their birth
not to be ridiculed abused
Only because you have the strength
of character to fear no reprisals
Endless torture enters sensitive souls
at a young age belittling the child
Terror is a tactic used in wrestling
to tag-team an opponent into helplessness
Maybe the arrangements never needed
to be made the poet held his cards close
Ask him why he studied Russian
in college and Shaker will smile
Definitely he knew what they did not
he saw what was coming he played his hand
Even if they hadn't treated him bad
as a child he couldn't ever forget
Ask him for forgiveness too late
the seeds were sewn decades before
Reason plays no part in blackmail
when nothing is expected in return
Realize some brothers are so different
that favoritism made one son appear
Adopted by his birth mother
and his alcoholic father
Nobody knows how to turn the tables
on his own family better than Shaker
Give them what they expect
no do the opposite
Engage when they retreat
disappear when they need his help
Maybe he should have killed his mom
and dad when they first threatened him
Endless games of torture they knew
so well taught their eldest son to abuse
Never would meet with reprisals
but laughter all around drunk with laughter
To this end Shaker lay on his deathbed
knowing full well his plans after dying
Simply couldn't benefit anyone
nor could his only book of poetry
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