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