Настроение сейчас - на два с плюсомНикогда раньше не замечал такой лирики у американских групп
death cab for cutie
styrofoam plates
there's a saltwater film on the jar of your
ashes: i threw them to sea but a gust
blew them backwards and the sting in my
eyes
that you then inflicted was par for the
course just as when you were living.
it's no stretch to say you were not quite
a father but a donor of seeds to a poor
single mother that would raise us alone,
we'd never see the money that went
down your throat
through the hole in your belly.
thirteen years old in the suburbs of denver
standing in line for Thanksgiving dinner
at the catholic chuch. the servers wore
crosses
to shield from the sufferance plauging
the others. styrofoam plates, cafateria tables
charity reeks of cheap wine and pity
and i'm thinking of you. i do every year
when we count all our blessings
and wonder what we're doing here.
you're a disgrace to the concept of family
the priest won't divulge that fact in his
homily and i'll stand up and scream
if the mourning remain quiet, you can
deck out a lie in a suit but i won't buy it.
i won't join in the procession that's
speaking their peace. using five dollar
words while praising his integrity. and just
cause he's gone it doesn't change the
fact: he was a bastard in life thus a
bastard in death.
