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lyrics

(one day in the universe)

scared of the facts
bed sores are for suckers
swears she’d never let a mostly deflated balloon live
(just) to spite the string
our gut is our stinger if we’re to (k)not or be
(local) bully bearing honey, second arm tired of the slight of hand
(butterfly) jar to the head
hard work with the crowbar (white gloves)
happy comes, happy goes (fast as)
bullets are the new birds (evolved clouds) day-dreaming off an old cliff
drama cows eating grass out of grazed ears
poetic wrangler with the knocker mopping down weeds
old tit flipping(the) tube ruined on commercial food and complimentary colors becoming (one), one with the rug to buck it under-neath, one with the hustle, shovel always under dirt, done with the bucket, but still kicking a can, can till i’m not, knot till i’m rope, rope till plateau, stop till she feels it, go till you drop, mountain till you fog, jog moments ago till you’re gone, hopped on the same train, got off to get on a-gain, clocking in at the last thought
cop in the sudden, drop in the room’s blotchy sub-stratosp-Here, with the bull’s horns, cropping out sad notes, plopping down cookies and (hand)tilling up anecdotes, flower in the piss pot, it’s the sloppy table not the cloth, dog in the other room, thoughts in a cage, can sleep sound if everything’s in place
mace in the bigot drawer
haste with the see it saw it, raw egg washed its hands of he(it)haw
hundred men’s pens it takes to overweight an ancient straw ,hundred thoughts away from a wounded knee, busted jaw or john brown &/or manifest destiny
hundred thirty pounds malnourished over England floating in a cheap soda, popping out of low clouds, spitting like a camel
know i’m mammal, something more, and not
floor to ceiling ready for you,
no tears on the end of our pen
mud and quicksand can’t keep me down
loud in a public prayer
shout through the rebuttal
haste with the raw egg
safe keep closed, steep money fumble on the high-jump
chump thunder and groupie clouds
(they thought the) lightening was paparazzi
the blue sky was a limousine
stretch the zebra-stripes as far as you’d like
sturgeon stay up late to watch you undress
yes, the dinosaur shaped to our liking

as if stealing from the tie wasn’t the same as waiting to be hung from it
as if making anything for your self didn’t mean giving it away

how we’ve made one field many
and back to one again
where does the internet end
who says the earth isn’t only casing its own tail
they bet heads on flipping a failed state
as long as someone picks up the coin
i won decapitated and popping corn
the goats speaking tin can, i was (a) paper cup and started listening
the candy began rapping, the cola was different but the mug remained the same, every star on a shoestring by the serif on the end of its capitalized name
iphone started coughing, the moment couldn’t text it back fast enough
the jacked candy in the box kept rapping
opening (up) on shock (1st number, butterscotch)
gobstop the sloppy death threat, inkblot the copy 10-4 on the bed wet
pulling twenty up and over the ditch, glitch hic-cup yesterday’s dinner on the landfil
call it a niche, spit hot garbage over a bloodied-up beat, greeted like a roadside bomb (the(western) moon coming up and over its last song)

the highest flame on rome hits number one
we got faxed democracy
(trying to) talk into it like a phone
(the) twizzler kept spelling its own name
screwfaced and bleeding in a public-well
newest candy kept rapping
out the box hi-tops talking bout their talent
worn heels bleeding back, itching at their aloe
shoelaces shout respect
boot up in the shallow

(the nail only goes slowly into death)
we each take our turn
winding up the ballot

being the spring in the back of winter


(trying to find its original place)


(she was sorry her fire hydrant was red)
(never meant to fall asleep between stars)

(we climbed into sky before the sun came up) (with pieces of the nest that bred us)
(between snores the white bread meant to turn green)
(clean jump into the clip-on)

(a social worker floats by on a medical balloon)

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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