When you’re standing nearby the wall of starvation
When nooses are shining instead of the sun
When you see the night in the eyes of your own
When your arm’s prepared for carrying ill
When all birds are suiciding early in spring
When storms in your soul blow whirling above
When all lies are croaking the ballad of treason
When you hear the brakes–they squeak about love
And those you believed in have gone far away
And you can’t see their movements no more
And at damp clammy dawn a disparaged pawn
Cuts deep carving the body of yours
Foreboding of
The near civil war
When clouds hang so low, below the knees
When there’s lumps of tongue stuck in the teeth
When people’s pure ethnicity is voting for blood
When your desolation is burning you well
When “faith” is a word that resembles a knife
When books are liquated making a bell
When felo de se is the very fair choice
When tremors stand for the right rhythm of life
And a glorified icon tells you in temple
That you aren’t the church, it nearly screams
What do you sing when instead of death
You end up with lascivious dreams?
Foreboding of
The real civil things
And when the black wind is ripping the sails
When the light of lamps is spitting pain in your face
Bloodless revolution is a bucket of lies
Do you hear the heartbleat of all those lice?
When the nature blows up and the simmering steel
Burns up the blue skies that are going down
And when the dystopia on a rust-coloured horse
Burns down the graves of those tired of the feast
And when the word “music” is meaning…
And when the word “music” is meaning…
Foreboding of!