3 plays on KMHD 89.1 FM Portland
From the album All the many corpses begin to speakWhat ignorance is cannot be argued over anymoreIt is too late for pleading white picket dreamsPrint you off, the shemps, the world is shrinkingRooted in a trivial concern, in interconnectednessIn the need to make face and keep upAnd drown out the many voices withinImagine a culture that has, at its rootA more soulful connection to land and to loved onesBut I can hear the lie before you speakThere is nothing but progress to eatAnd we are so fat and so hungryAnd the black wrists are cuffed in the pig vanWhile the white shirt and tie in the tube car, distractional picturePictures of beer and guilt about urgesSexual distrust and abandoned to nothingnessGive me something I can nail myself toGive me a sharply-dressed talking headWho has something about them I trust and despiseAnd what of it, anyway? These windows don't openThey were designed to stay closedShower, smoothie, coffee, commuteCheck the internet, never stop, never stopThere is a scar on the soul of the world and it needs you to lookThe blood of the past is here, it remainsThe blood of the murders, the bodies like sacks leaking brainAll stacked, chest aback on the planes, it remainsTo acknowledge without guilt, to accept without conditionAnd to listen when other people tell you how you have behavedTruth is, it's for us to feel and be movedBut I hear the clatter of bone against steel, it is comingIt will not be stilled, it is thereIn the air, scorched whiteThe reflection of sunlight on glass bouncing back into sunlightAnd glass bouncing back, industrializedDenial, business as usualSo roll your eyes, shake your head, turn away and call me namesI'm okay with that, too proudUnable to listen, we keep speakingMoted by blood, unable to notice ourselvesUnable to stop and unwilling to learn