1. |
The Body
03:42
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I could have moved to Berlin.
Oh well, here I am.
I could have learned the language.
Oh well, here I am.
I guess that leather ball gag is not for me.
I could have been swinging up there easily.
I could have been looking down from the ceiling.
Fish hooks through my back like it ain’t no thing.
Like my body was meant for me.
I could have known the feeling of the razor through my tongue -
Splitting my spoon into a fork.
I kept what I was given because I was told God’s image
Didn’t match with what I imagined myself to be.
Oh no! Here I am…
With what I knew myself to be.
Oh no. Here I am without a body meant for me.
My body was meant for me.
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2. |
The Child
02:12
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I don’t want to satire Trump. Just want to see him satire.
I don’t want to satire Trump. Just want to satire his friends.
I wish that Cool Hand Luke would descend from the clouds
In a cast iron time machine.
He’d light an unfiltered cigarette, look me in the eye,
And scream, “are you not seeing what I’m seeing?
I hope my kid’s first word is Fuck Donald Trump.
I hope my kid’s second word is Fuck Donald Trump.
Their eyes roll back in the back of their heads.
They’ll never finish the fiftieth egg.
I don’t want to satire Trump, just want to satire his friends.
I don’t want to satire Trump, just want to see him satire.
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3. |
The Light
04:19
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What happens when The Lights turn off?
What happens when you die?
When you flip the record to the other side?
When you slip through the Universal drain?
When you learn Death’s first name?
What happens when The Lights cut on?
What happens when you’re born?
What is learning for?
Where are we headed towards?
Is anyone keeping score?
What happens when it’s all chaos?
What happens when I’m feeling lost?
What happens when The Lights run hot?
What happens when The Lights run hot?
Take it as it comes until you took it as it came.
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4. |
The Crime
01:54
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God bless the bureaucrats
The suits one step back
From the arc of the spotlight’s powerful sweep
God act like rebar
And steel the taupe backbones
Of career bureaucrats; nourish them please.
God put kind people
In the paths of the bureaucrats -
A free cup of coffee when they least expect.
God grace the brains
Of our careful, brave bureaucrats
Keeping the wheels greased behind these rich idiots.
God grant mischievous
Hearts to the bureaucrats.
Make their hands quick like good tableside magic.
Give a good poker face
To our honest bureaucrats.
Help them lie straight in the eyes of The Boss.
A shining brass guillotine
Sits in the breakroom
A post-it note reads: prototype office chair.
The clever last bureaucrat
Remarks to The Boss,
“Yeah, it also reclines just pull that lever there.”
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Owen FitzGerald Raleigh, North Carolina
Southern Gothic alt-folk from central NC.
Happy sleepy cat.
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