Text: Mountain Goats, The. Brisbane Hotel Sutra.

on the crooked road that took me north
and brought me home again
from the pit of writhing serpents
out to the lion?s den
where the labyrinth is lightless
and the faithless wander crazed
let the light rise from the darkness
let his name be praised

from the sunrise of my childhood
to its premature demise
from my mother?s best intentions
to my stepdad?s seething eyes
from the hidden self-inflicted wounds
that flowered in later days
to the folly of their learning
let his name be praised

in the holes the worms have eaten
through all once-treasured things
from the wet mouth of the vulture
to the red tips of his wings
in the dazed yes of the penitent
emerging from the maze
in his wordless explanations
let his name be praised