Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Electric City

The man’s lyin’ there,
The chances of lightning strikin’ him twice
Rare these things just go an’decide to happen.
He thinks,
Well, bullocks. I should just lay here.
I’ve been struck by lightning.
If I could stay here long enough,
The earth, the saprotrophs, should finish the job.

But the dirt didn’t consume him like it should’ve.
The micro things crawled, but he didn’t decompose.
Death lost its wonder, its novelty;
Grotesque monotony was the only thing that did.

So he gets up. He gets up,
And he runs his hands over the charcoaled skin,
Rubbing off the dry ground and burnt remains.
Oh, oh,
The pain, he thinks, this pumpin’, writhin’ pain
Is gonna linger a while.

He ain’t no hero, this man.
He sought a six foot hole before the
Sunrise. This man was the man who searched
For God in a monastery
The man who went a runnin’ cause it was good for him.
He’s just now a realizin’, that there’s no other
Choice than to keep on movin’.

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