West Coyote Hills
by Michael Doyle

I spent some time in Fullerton, hanging around.
It's there that West Coyote Hills can be found.
We wondered bits and pieces during the day,
And playing guitar at the Brea dam along the way.

The advantage of staying simple enough not to complain
Is that people will teach you how to avoid life's pain.
One night, the boys went to a haunted lodge to play.
No one knew we'd get tripped up along the way.

There's a lot of wisdom that is shared among the young,
If you listen really closely to the secret of the tongue.
There were secret passwords allowing each of our entry.
It's spoken somewhere between freedom and true liberty.

It was somewhere in the stumbling passage of rebirth
That I fell into the cracked heart of Mother Earth.
The derricks pumped oil weeping from shale stone,
It was from this blood that mankind needed to atone. 

There was a lot of life for a strip of barren land.
On it, the oil men learned who was really in command.
Oil gushers had stained the characters of sacrifice,
To the point that the best explanation would not suffice.

In healing the tainted familial bonds lost to ambition,
This is a natural consequence of greed's naked aggression.
Games of power and domination assert our flawed supremacy,
But ultimately, all such assertions fail in their futility. 

Between the contests of religion and crass materialism
Is the need of mankind to find the path of true spiritualism.
Shards of death hide behind the virgin's sacred veil,
Ready to drag the bravest of us down to the depths of Hell.

(c) July 19, 2025   Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved