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lyrics

Hurricanes trace the slaveship trails
Assailing the land with hieroglyphs of wind,
Illegible to those illiterate of nature
Who hear only murmuring silks
As tall ships nudge the nascent moon
Before phosphorous tides draw them down
Into deep water of life forming
Around the banished head
Where magic plays wild in bubbling foam.

The magic of innumerable loves
Infuses a new sky with roundelays
As bees, in flight
From porous torsos of red wood,
Remember the green ants
Hollowing barracks
Like canoe logs in glyphic tributaries.

Now the hives are abuzz with men
Who complain there is no honey.
And there is no honey.
What kind of bee would live among men
Who kill what cannot be used
Who tolerate not what may be feared
And who despise all that issues
From deep water of life forming
From the innumerable loves
Of the banished god.

Away in the city of worms
The castaways rise vain and secure
Now that the walls have been sealed
And nothing can get in
And not even a mosquito squirms

In the city of worms
Where they grow their own Caligulas and Napoleons
In armies of footsoldiers and fuckheads
Good for nothing but gangraping the obelisk.

In this circle-belt of trivia
Where history is obliterated
Where people are eternal
And news the birdseed for parakeets,
Thought is never the call
And always the response.

Away in the city of Roman and Japanese emperors
Egyptian pharaohs and Farouks
The great the terrible and the holy
Annointed and appointed ones
The witch-hunter and the bewitched Senate
These iniquitous bastards of history and the present day
Ride the barge with Cleopatra
Down the Nile, the Amazon, the Yangtze, and the Mississippi rivers
Killing everything in sight.

Assassins of Allende and Romero and Lorca
Assassins of language, music, and the tangible arts
Assassins of Fred Hampton and the students of Kent State and Tiananmen Square
Assassins of the elephant and the unicorn and 10,000 species of snake
Assassins of the clouds
Who bloody the sky with missiles
And in the city suffer inviolate
While in undersea volcanoes
Where the great spirit is banished
A new Earth rises

But the chickenshits and crybabies
The footsoldiers and fuckheads
Will never see it.

Instead, they leap about
Boasting, “We are apes.
We are apes!”
And the great spirit nods in assent.
“You are right,” he weeps.
“You are indeed apes.
But it wasn’t always so.
It was not always so.”

credits

from The Dark Room - Tourist Ticket, released December 3, 2021
written, arranged, and performed by bill white

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