| Hayden Michael Gray - Poetry |
Dirt Going Down 13 dead soldiers It was only the slip of a finger. Is it accidental convenience? Your haunting has become present tense. Stack them up knock them down. Two houses mortared by cards. Shuffled by clowns. There are children in these towns. Running through these towns, mourning decorated ghost for their pleasure. Four fathers. Not even one father. Horizons have lost their meaning, in this cold, cold funeral maze. Slip of fingers, slip of hands. We are courting progression, with six bottles of depression. |
| Copyright 2007 Red Pulp Underground |
Echos at 3:22 never ever wake up before noon you're not missing anything, except the opening scene of a world spinning backwards this is the time to play in the dark this is the time to stand in your corners, and listen for an echo to bounce, bounce, bounce from a place the cancer is not growing and the sun isnt showing, all of this spinning backwards lets make sure the bullets miss lets vote with our feet lets stop choking our necks with ties and lies are the only thing keeping our necks warm well............ the angels said, that jesus said, that muhammad told god that bridges make nice umbrellas in the spring smoking keeps your lips warm in the winter having funerals for trees in the fall, will most definitely make you take your shoes off in the summer this is the time to stand in your corners and listen |
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Red Pulp Underground