Friday, July 08, 2005

aches like a woman

sneaking into cemeteries buried eight deep. graffiti on the crematorium and biker graves. pentagram says 'i'll live again.' hiding from the cops and walking down bardstown with flashlights bulging in dark pockets. i carry on.


Oh, what'll you do now, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, what'll you do now, my darling young one?
I'm a-goin' back out 'fore the rain starts a-fallin',
I'll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest,
Where the people are many and their hands are all empty,
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters,
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison,
Where the executioner's face is always well hidden,
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten,
Where black is the color, where none is the number,
And I'll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it,
And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it,
Then I'll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin',
But I'll know my song well before I start singin',
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

1 Comments:

Blogger elfslinger said...

i'll stand on the ocean until i start sinkin'...

i've also been spreading some huckabees love this weekend. you would be proud.

are we gonna do more of the pure being later?

10:38 PM  

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