catch my death
an English melody
travelling from heat to freezing cold
trans-this, sans-that, groan old.
Mealy-mouthed moaning means nothing to me,
people volunteer eat, shit, eat shit, they do,
they’re that stupid.
Put a gun in a man’s hands
this murderer wears a funny hat
no smiles, no this, no that
no men o’pause, just the bare necessities.
Freeze, moan, groan, be, alone
in this barely-mystic air
that is always, and forever, where
i see through bare air, miss everything.
One of Solz’s gulags, it’s a European thing,
every songbird says.
You get the wrong sign, get out of line,
a triangle or an equation
-b + or — sq root of b2–4ac/2b.
That’s just one way to pray
I have a guilt for my best friend,
keeping him warm, in his grave.
Nothing stops this inclement shivering inside,
by all means there’s worse to come,
sans teeth, sans fun, sans everyfuckingthing.