there ain’t no ground for me to play on

and there ain’t no music to play,

anyway,

just another day

another life

another scythe

ringing in the distant fields

and that little thing you thought so fine

she was just some cheap cherry wine

and I thought myself fine sauvignon

though I did fail French a few times

but at least I didn’t get left in the distant field

to be harvested by the farmer

to be sold at the market

to be broken apart and maimed beyond measure.

those lips eating though,

they sure feel nice against ya,

they sure do someone justice when

they’re kissing all over

and massaging your broken body

but there’s no music down in the gullet

there ain’t no sound

but the deep and soulful murmurings

of the stomach,

the intestine,

the **** that will birth me once more

and again I’ll be in the water

and mix with the ocean

and become the rain and

rise

oh la la la la la la la la

rise

I’ll rise above it all

and rain down your body and my body

and all these broken, mutilated grain-bodies

and pour it all down on you

and the fields

and that little thing you left

lying in the middle of seas of wheat

she’s screaming to the sky

roaring to the rain that falls

telling me all she knew

all she loved

none about you

all of it runs

all of it resounds

making music on the ground

and singing all in the air