Day 7
Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs. Help me I am tied up and the pigs are sharpening there knives. The alberta beatnik is a prophet and I am going to experience a trace willan nightmare WEEE WEEEE
LULLABYE OF GAS
  

Hush little child
The future future
May disturb you
But there is the sun
So so bright
Holds up skinny arm
Of revolution
Against the moon
Sing in silver of cossack blade
No the white russian handkerchief does
Not change into the river red blood flag
Of the bolsheviks
It's held over mouth
As you die like your grandfather did
Hand over mouth
Identity on breast
And the lullaby of gas washes over
The hissing the missing and the trees are bare
Nothing grows and the fruit is bitter
This is the lullaby of gas
The night is shoot out
No stars black the colour of lakias coat
Little dog you knew all the tricks
But what happens to all the good little dogs
It the same as four telling rabbits
You seem them skinned in the sickening
Pulses addled and quickening
The hamsters earnestly turning the wheel of bureaucrazy and racing
For the claim space
Said you died after a weeks
It was only hours
And your howl stretching folding time and prophecy
Told of the red star collapse sing sing sing into the black velvet hole of capitelltell tell ism
And the only thing left after your guts exploded
Was the lullaby of gas
What happens to all the good little dogs
They eat bad fruit and die shivering in yours arms
Harsh and cycnical lights all for the cause of betterment
Who's a good little doggy I can see your brains
The stars of it glowing dying out
Young peterburg rabbits sit in the greek café
Talk about how they were thrown to the european wolves
And american coyotes left to fend for themselves
They didn't know how to eat or vote for themselves
And mother ussr frankenstein was returned to her original pieces
The heart and conscience strangely missing
All of this for the blue jeans and going doing south
So you can get fucked by the american cuban missile crisis
Cause the president doesn't know how to keep the missile in there pants
Other rabbits there lines go back to the boot
On there necks the lash on backs
Turned into the general with the bad eyes
Looks out of muscovite apartments drinks fine brandy eats
Brie watches the masses collect for bread rotten in there mouth
It wasn't democracy the people clamored for
It was the right to drink pepsi or chokes
You the sound of the gasses a hissing
No it's the sound of the communist revolution
Mark and Engles and Grouch and Thomas More spinning in there graves
Once the fruit looked so beautiful but when the apples was divided some had
Whole orchids in there pockets and watched as there own mother starved off another taste
It's the lullaby of gas
But the bear she has grace
All pretty dancin in the tutu
Never mind what keeps her on her hinds legs
But the shackles re rusted as the sickle
That was drawn against the young Ukrainians throats
By good old uncle joe
She urges her young to dance to
Then senses something's not right she bats it lovingly
And the bears head goes spinning off
It's a short clown in a bad bear suit
And then she dismembers all her young while still dancing away
Takes the blood paints it on her lips to look pretty
But the man in the tall tall hat and the funny beard
Plays away at his organ
The song so beautiful to the bear's ears it makes her dance and dance so merry
Actually the song is off-key and scary
About when his younger brother burned his room
In retaliation for the times beaten up
And how the younger brother actually managed to defend himself
And beat the older brother back for the last time
Now the younger brother tags along like little brothers do
Takes his stick jabs it into the bear's ribs to make her dance
And all of a sudden her guts come out
And its only gears she is only a automaton
Once she played chess
Will the uncle in the top hat
The pieces were glass and when innocence and power was played
The pieces filled with the colour black or white red or white
Or even blue not matter it was blood the drove the pieces
And not the life the energy the spilling of the seeds
Was the killing of the fruit
The wind rustling in the barren trees the lullaby of gas
The bear and the uncle are married now
The marriage vows exactly the same
She ain't good at doing dishes she breaks them
And he is looking haggard and bruised
The scars across him a mark of honor
For she still dances
No children though He taught them to shoot from such a young age
And they all marked each other in the sights
Shoot out the moon and avert stars in nights
Until all they had was each other for the targets
And the fathers hand in on the gun
The brains across the floor
Children scattered like there bloody dolls
And the sound is the door creaking the oven left open
And it's the lullaby of gas
No fruit will spring from this earth it's far too barren
But the heart of the grandmother is found in a mayonnaise jar

© 2006 Phil Jagger