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lyrics

Spring a thing that moves like a cruiseship -- in other words, consuming. Spring like a brick wall, spring like the fall over again. And oh these little gardens, hands in the earth, creative action. Oh these cruel, cruel tragedies of ownership. Oh and but when the boomers bust, when consumer’s consumed, idiot spring will be groping its prick down in the dirt again.

So oh: impotence in the morning. And oh: impotence in the evening. Fuck! Life is becoming the spitting image of an image longing for life, just like I knew it would. And fuck the dawn, fuck the dawn, but what’s next son? Fuck the dawn and so on, and so and so sown: freedom and dirt, a ditch for our vagabond to die in afterwards ?!

And parched by the fountain and prodded senseless to nerve pulp, miracle after tired miracle await in cue their makers’ hands for rough touch and “sculpt.” And the westward-bound young men spread themselves across sidewalks like flaked empire clumps of dandelion fluff, desperate to fashion new frontiers with their sweet sick stuff. And the razor sting of fresh cut lawns cuts through. And like childlike Rome dragging its feet into the dust, violent fucking spring lurks this suburban block in broad daylight.

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from Songs for Losers, released July 13, 2017

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Cryptozoologists Whitehorse, Yukon

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