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• Artiste: Rock Dove
• Titre: The Roaring Land
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the wind's gone wild, the violent ghost stares through the window at the cocky young talk-show host whose voice is booming but strangely soothing in a cube of precious, restless space while the city's boiling and not listening to the paper bastard's painted face so that's that with an electric flash of broken glass blood, bones, and skin they all just blend right in but the cameras never cease to roll when life has lost control to the roaring land upon which nothing stands i'm the broken baby who's gripped by sea with only seconds until the end of me and i can see it coming that metal hand as it gathers up the final prize when that gallant laughing gets funnelled in through your ears, your mouth, and your eyes it's a downpour of dead birds to the steaming ground of this pitch black town and you better find yourself some shelter down, the sun's been pulled and now she's creeping invisible and i fucking swear that i just felt her 18 paragraphs all across your head trying to convince me you're not dead but a deep breath of air tells what is and isn't there space has never lied will never lie i watched it all so safely from my tv screen 10 feet above the thrashing sea 65 billion fingers packing tight the dirt over me i'm not i'm not the least bit lonely when my house starts melting i will be wrestling my ghost with a foot on his face, i will whip out the mace and slam it down, slam it down with amazing grace while laughing on a distant, distant planet is a being with a telescope for seeing us four thousand years of breathing, each the same oh powerless god, stop making fun turn around turn around turn around turn around turn around abort your son i can't stop driving, just searching the city trying to catch up with my yellow school bus smelling the scents that will one day remind me of my love and where it never ever got us nothing has nothing has nothing has nothing has nothing has nothings has changed you dont need eyes to see that when the wind starts tearing the trees up from the grouund and then around with the breeze i will be spinning fast this sphere, closing my eyes, and pressing my finger here down underneath the violent waves i will anchor to the bottom i will bury my face i wil be untouched by the weather, untouched by decisions, free to sleep forever i was sucking on rejected apples dodging all the circles of light weaving through the well-lit mansions of the great white elite at night when the cracks began splitting the ground and in fell the trees to the firey seas of the underground, spiraling down half-eaten dinners and repenting sinners all clutter the crumbling town on a sound stage in the slums of LA the jagged line cuts the floor plastic wood and hollow appliances shake to the rhythm of the roar and the laughter sign is blinking on and off and on and off... with hysterical flashing, the lights all come crashing they slice up the godly, young prince who blows a kiss, gives a bow, from across the abyss to kids in the audience he's letting time march away from him and he's giggling like a god the whole way down hahaha hahaha hahaha hahaha hahaha the hurricane left caskets resting on the laughing ground hahaha hahaha hahaha hahaha hahaha downstairs the television's speaking to the dark it's a home video of a house you know of the oblivious earth just 4 weeks before your birth your mothers smile stings like dying in your dreams when nobody cares that you're not there you're staring straight into the eyes of the overwelming afterlife there's no reason to fear what has already been here you have to disappear downstairs, the television's more than half awake and it's laughing loud letting the cold dawn break singing, "release the fuming monster from its home in the poison lake" make friends with the roar and deny that you wear born into bubbles of love into latex gloves and deny that your mind was designed to murder you then maybe some good will come from your head to the great hum, but you must break your thumbs do you want heaven, or do you want hell? i've got both right here to sell but man, nothing you've done is you're fault if you've had to be here at all i dont care i dont mind i am tucked in the corner with my crimes a rebellious little rusted nail with a heart singing fail fail fail but golden teeth paper face iceberg blood flashing on like a flood, my fellow god wrote the world in the mud. gold-speckled paper deep in dirt says: "we've got truths, we've got thoughts we've got flesh to watch rot surfaces and structures and sounds to turn off but the rest is nothing and we know that now off alone with its tame, simple screams it's our job to cover them, not to make sense of them, and to dream of having better dreams"