It was Passion Sunday, bright as clear we boarded trucks all drenched in tears. Snout smoke ignites the twitch inside we headed for the coast with haste. I lit a little candle prayed to Anthony expelled a scrath deliberated fears of how he’d cope held
Hands with friends and gently toked. I miss my son already friend lets split this fag as I exhaled, I thought of of this accurate I thought of hearts in scriptures. I thought of a new chance in life how Lety killed with Czech denial. How Havel spoke so recently blamed it on the Nazis thankfully peeved
Look me in the eye tell me what is it you spy?
A dead dead woman with a heart a glass with love upon her face.
Look me in the eye tell me what is it you spy?
They kiss and rape away my tears I need a little bit of home.
In the garden of my mothers house me and her we used to sing, glory be to all the sinners former lovers and our saints. We’d close our eyes we’d think of better times we’d talk of mitrovica, the mahala tribes, the French un the Gopal males and circles sailed. Woken up
at dawn and hurried out like cattle into awaiting hoards of Kanjar types and sasi boys with burnish grins and teeth of coal. They heckled for the cheapest price approaching me a malodorous sight he stroked my chin said come me i howled with fear and he winked and he beamed
Curse these pills they make me take
Curse these pills they make me ache
Curse these pills…
Twenty minutes past the hour cold and trembling in the dark I hoped that faith would bring a touch of kind and warmth into my heart. For ten long days I’d stripped and touched against my will and needed much a voice to tell me it’s ok and hand to take me
far away. He sat alone with twisted creed assembling blades he howled at me “You cheap young bitch down on your knees your nothing but a Beria thief. Gandhila bastard still he sneered spat on the floor a face that screamed of ignorance. Yes I’ll kill him I swear I’ll fucking kill him