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lyrics

molotov breadbasket (pleen)

this song starts unable to find its wifebeater, this song drips slowly out of an Accuracy International L115A3 (media acclaimed) looking for its paraffin (keeping the time of day by the rate at which his open wounds would scab over) this tenth lullaby in a row serves coffee cold in a cough syrup cup, this all-danced-out square, this old arm to swing, hands up against the wall street, dixiefolded over in its own corner, skin color bandaids and alabama heart burn, woke up on the border, half in merryland, half over the PA line (am the principal/can't touch the principal) half free, half with a kind slave owner, rubbing the back of the boss's computer monitor while it pukes up my lunch money in a urinal, this chant begins (by) pissing in the wind, this gutter starts by running over, jesus and buddah had the same belly, the bible needed a bigger belt, to keep all the flattened fish from being (un)discovered (falling from their oversized cuffs) (but which wall should we call the front) but still science needed its telescope to send itself up the down escalator, to sea the whale at its feet, i tried to shout out 3 blocks ahead of me, or really only two feet stuck on the bottom of the die we roll ourselves over in bed about, the mute clown walked the wall-paper-painted elephant into the room, every bored mouse double clicked at its cheese, the body bag had a rockingchair in it, some of us had to put the beach chair on the top of the most famous mountain, of course the love seat had to go on the moon, this song starts out mid-dream (lucid) thinking it's flying, this flying parachutes through ice-clouds, sloppy like whiskey, in the closet trying to get neat, tuxed out and tucked in my bottlecap, flipped the fish over to find tire tracks, we walked ourselves home, following the footprints we put in ourselves, following the freight we had to weigh ourselves in about at at every pull off of mirror worth the rest, as if the cat-nap was nine dreams, as if the shrink will ever reveal its too big to fall hand, as if the doctor will ever tell you how not to die(w/o his $ turing greener) as if the shrink rap doesn't already imply death (as if the yesterday's chicken worth saving were highschool) as if the age you found your attic-light made a difference to the sum of time spent nickel and diming out the difference, as if every penny for thought worth calling out could be called heads up, on a paying phone, as if the web we each eat each other out of (and into) didn't matter, as if the tweet wasn't measured as mass in a bubbling beaker, as if the sitting duck didn't already have a volume knob, they flopped us over and found highways, broken bones with toll booths(at each fracture),(cultural-traffic) and congested yoga, bending drunk into the dotted lines, all the well put together addictions, with their worst cancers in money-clips, all the finished pictures on a check-out line, wholest milk with the tallest boots mayflowering the (coldest)pole, duck in the voting booth, i always hit south in the extremities, bucking on the last bill but up against me in the thinking line, took the 1 line uptown, thinking about the bottom of my bag on the floor, with a half-stare in a just washed sales smock selling winter, the geese asked at each stop if this crosstown bus went south, the payload frowned and winked, the clown makeup read downtown, express line, crying in the heat, these broken bones read wrong map, outdated gold, the bankers collaging with my ripped off flesh, read back every one of my receipts, looking for owed money, the water bucket ducked in the well, we stood around waiting for glue, as if the planet didn't need the sun, to hold itself together, she claimed those lowered brows weren't california coming off, weren’t continents shifting,
emotionally, she wanted to be Pangaea, but every harbour needed its own slave, to carry off its acre of land, every beaker needed a lobbyist, full of worms, money is frankenstein, we all had arranged marriages, the busted bumper on the get-a-way bus read "stuck together" while it shouted "uncle" like blood hitting the paper that cut it, i wore a hearse around my neck like a 'just hitched' tee-pee on a flatbed truck, being towed off with the week's recycling, i paid for 5 bags of trash with 2, wore the sweat around my neck like an unlocked collar, every indian burn on an elephant's trunk screaming 'thanksgiving' and 'mercy' like' bloody murder', like empty soda cans and dog-tags hitting the highway pavement behind them (in a stretch-hummer) 1 minute an hour rationally, she only wanted to be one continent, as one continent, she longed for gypsy-boats, for un-motored ships, carrying freight with weight to spare, a wave hitch-hiking another coastline, holding a cardboard sign and a 'had-money' frown, saying: 'broke' - 'looking for my fix'
this song died in its wifebeater holding a cheese knife and a wad of toilet paper, this song broke its neck reaching for the saw blade, slipped in the ballet dancer's sweat, trying to sample god, this science teacher explains the frog in his throat on a surgery table with a pair of running scissors, this song died choking on its own wishing bone, this whole thing was said with mouth full of tv dinner and double parked dump trucks, this song was never not a landfill, throw your garbage

credits

from You Were Murdered As A Kid, released September 30, 2011
produced by Frietboer
lyrics and vocals by Brad Hamers

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Dust On Snow (Brad Hamers & Frietboer) Netherlands

Dust On Snow is a collaborative musical project, an agitated and frothing monster created by poet, musician and collage artist, Brad Hamers and beat-maker/producer, Frietboer. On this 8 track debut EP, Brad Hamers (Phlegm, Two Ton Sloth, New Police) provides the words and Frietboer (Frietboerism 1/5, Fiks, Fris & Dood) supplies the beats. ... more

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