Album: Beating Back the Claws of the Cold
They taught me songs of cognac and rum
to keep away all them spiritual doldrums
They'll start to burn and I should've ran slept like a stick in the old beaver dam
and we will start a hungry war like Napoleon, by shooting off our mouth
and the beads of sweat are so gullible, that they will glow...
They sacrificed at the ports of Brunei
They sold me out with their chins to the sky might be my son, let me see your hands
I should've drowned you when I had the chance
and we will fly through the land like syphilis, cutting off their balls
And their punishment will run in a caravan, led by shouts...
Some grace lands, are like a little secret there to keep you interested
On daytime shifts I'll dig through the trash on nighttime runs I'll sort out the past
If wishes lived where the bone breakers quake
these lips of mine they will drink from the lake
they are crushed by the cunts of the colony, a timid goal golem
and there's a fence hiding backyard dividends, and precious few...
Those bottles shatter at the sound of dispute
and bottlecaps are a chorus of roots
The bass is sung with a conscience renewed by melodies that will never conclude
So by and by there is grass on the battleground, and the weed grows again
and the soft little strip of an arrowtip, will never cut...
And the broad man, broad shoulders squared...
against the bomb
It's a brave little bayleaf cold...
and curing strong
It's winter's night west virginia style...
I'll call it home it's summer's eve the clam shell is cracked...
The mussel's out