THE SKY IS A CORPSE

The sky is a corpse. The moon is made of dead man’s bones.
The sky is a corpse. The moon is made of dead man’s bones.
Some of them are my Daddy’s.
Some of them are my own.

Have you seen the drunken priest stumble through his mass?
Have you seen the drunken priest stumble through his mass?
He’s been looking for Jesus in the bottom of his glass.

The rooster is sick of crowing night and day.
The rooster is sick of crowing night and day.
So many women, so many left to betray.

I loved a woman like a river, always changing courses in her bed.
I loved a woman like a river, changing courses in her bed.
If I stayed with that woman might not live till I was dead.

Her eyes were like thorns, her fingers like cigarettes.
Her eyes were black thorns, her fingers were cigarettes.
Her hair was a dung heap held up with red berets.

A poor man hardens like bread crust on the street.
A poor man hardens like a bread crust in the street.
But even piss in the gutters finally does reach the sea.

There is blood on the pavement, spit on the window.
There is blood on the pavement, spit on the window.
Cold wind is a butcher knife that finds every hollow.

Your hands ask for mercy, ask for mercy from the sky.
You hands ask for mercy ask for mercy from the sky.
Hear a voice in the alley shout, “Why the hell should I?”

I went down to the river, it was flowing full of blood.
I went down to the river, it was flowing full of blood.
No one left alive after the fiery flood.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s