I'm about to fly through the air. Back away.
When I see black, or the angel out of the rain,
She frowns at me, like his father, the same odd manner.
He can't help us, a bad boy in god,
Neglected or ripe for another disease.
People who were dropped on their heads, whose fathers have jobs,
Where's that father of yours?
Go underwater. Someday I'll go, with a bucket.
This will be the last woman in the shop,
Looking at me and admiring my ways.
They're not talking, but staring straight in the depths of faith.
On warm days they swarm.
Wait outside another few minutes,
Till my skin burns and it's time to go.
It's cold in the room. Close the door.
Scrub my head, neck, hands, and knees, the way they do in the films.
Would you look at this? You out here stuffing yourself,
Sitting off to the side under the sea beside him.
Leave them in the lane, the same old northern jaw, to heat up the iron.
This war is none of our business.
They didn't want to laugh.
She knows that I want to cry.
She wishes I didn't.
Told her to shut up, go to hell.
The priest can go to hell too.
Cars and planes, another cigarette.
Get the fire going again.
They're told never to go to the post office in my head -- it's bad.
I try to find music in my own head,
With the palms of my hands in the morning,
Once again through the graveyard.
God forgive me.
He never tells me I should die,
He tell me to walk back.
We will have another by the fire in the morning,
Men, women, and children.
Sorry now I never ate that on my knees all serious.
You sit around the fire.
My brothers are back in bed all over the world.
They're mine.
They're mine -- it's hard enough keeping a fire.
After the story we have the world.
You want my son, and any inch of skin stuffed with food.
You put your glass in the native tongue, and backward.
God is sitting in the back of the pub
With a promise to tell everything a man could carry.
Our lord with the pig's head in America was not a proper telegram boy.
She will not set a foot inside the coal on the fire.
He doesn't have the pills.
"Sit in trees," he tells me, to keep our door open in the warm weather.
She warns me, "speak up, right away,"
And she tells me to get into a different color,
And tell my father to teach them all how to play.
"It's Too Late for Bees" featuring Lacey Davidson on recorder. "Are They Thinking About the Machines?" recorded live at The Venture Compound in St. Petersburg, Florida. "16/2" recorded live at The Spot Tavern in Lafayette, Indiana.
Derridada is an experimental drone and noise-rock band based in central Floridada, combining elements of ambient, drone,
noise, post rock, and minimalism, as well as performance art and an aesthetic borrowed from the Dadaists, poststructuralists, and the post punk/no wave scene of the early 80s....more
The first release on Cacophonous Revival, from experimentalist Samuel Goff, uses avant-garde approaches to get at personal narratives. Bandcamp New & Notable Feb 4, 2020
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