Any deaths depicted are not desired literally, but are depictions of the death of a soul by corruption, and aren’t about anyone in particular
You can rally the base
You can rally the base
But you can’t face the living truth
Climbing like a vine on your rotting trunk
With its broken limbs
Fingers brittle little twigs
Rotting from within, without leaves, without seeds
Acorns black with mold, split open, spongy in the mulch
The squirrels spit them out
This is the tree where they hanged the witch
Where they lynched the runaway slave
Who returned to run the plantation
Now it strangles in the vine
He dies! He dies!
Orange gelatinous tendrils of the virus blooming
Dripping in the mushrooms of wet sawdust
Shouting orders at the termites
Who serve only the hive
He casts his sickly ghost into our house
Hiding in the attic, howling
Spelling hateful words on Ouija boards
We need insecticide and an exorcist
Replace every beam of wood he infests with worms
We’ll end his curse
Send him back to his rotting log
Send him back to hell
Send you back to hell
Rally the base
You can rally the base
You can rally the base
You can rally the base
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment