Unconscious of echoing tragedy we line up to join the parade
but our elbows are stuck in the mud again and our houses have all flown away
there's a song that we've thrown from corpse to corpse in the fleshed that we carry with us
it's written in caches of serpentine in tunnels and grey pigeons nests
who do you turn to?
treads of the tank searchlight the street scratched of the lists ash and the heat
throwing the kitchen knives off of the roof
but when they look up to the house-tops there's no one to shoot
but w broke through the curfew and into the street
if we let them take anything they'll take everything
they laughed when my aunt won the lottery
they laughed when the cattle cars came
they shot me for stealing a crust of bread but they gave me a loaf when I begged