THE LOST TAPES Vol.49: ruination in foreign terror
plucked rose petals laid in a little glass coffin a trapped soul forced to nature's course the soft aroma of a beautiful flower *** marriage on sight expected pregnancy lulling her days rolling on the couch whore by nature but for what? *** In a small, protestant little church Five congregants and a minimal band Dad’s on guitar, she plays the drums set Black hair, black eyes, black nails Thin, black sweater under a pentagram charm Her black lips sigh, begging for a smoke It’s a cold, depressing Sunday night But at least she’s getting paid Tourists don’t come around here Smoking pot, sitting on dead leaves We’ve broken all the lamps It’s been two months, nobody noticed The new piercing, tattoos, scars A black eye waiting to happen Half a bible, rolling joints Throwing rocks at the sewer creek Not a sound in the streets downtown but the winds whistling through empty alleys and an occasional small splash because there are no big rocks left You don’t wan