A flash flood in a plastic egg,nthis is the obvious boy hitting.nnI saw a man hop a barb-wire fence,nwith a baby under his armna matress on the sidewalk- next to a bikenchained to a tree.nnEarthsicknnOne out of three says I'm a lie.nOne out of three says I'm alive.nand the other third can't even say hi.nnAnd that's just a third of the time-nI haven't yet written the scene's that make up my movie.nnI'm american brood, 21st century fairnMad rat, the latch, and fame of he in that flown maze.nHe shakes still coffee at the probable cigarettenthis here is a banger for the lonely, my age, and in therapy.nnBang:nlife grows in a cut.nAnd bang:nIt's a sunny rut.nnI don't care who thinks that it was them nt'was money made the light bulb stemnthe final marble of math ndoes not go further than the loaf of bread.nnWage.nThat's why I write lines for spacenin zero denial.nCome on tax-man repo this!nnA twenty odd year young man washes his hands.nHe drew a line in the sand a foot from the water and saidnFree trips from here to the ocean- 5 cents,nthen he threw up a stand, and made a few million clamsnuntil a whale beeched at his feet .nThen he judged and he quit and he walked, nbuck-naked, back to the pert citynwhere he bent a railing around his throat for protection.nnSee what I was trying to explain wasnthe way a boy on a bike floats across a busy intersection.nAll the world knowing that he's only late for dinner,nand all that balance unfurling across the sockets in his skeleton.nHe's not the million parts soapy water of a bubblennot the nine-hundreth percentile.nnI saw a woman still reading hamlet to her murmering babynalthough I wouldn't knownWe were all watching a 64-inch screen play black.nNo one's plane had arrived yet.nI overhear two dying men with a lead whisper say nThat there on the t.v. there? That's footage from the afterlifenlive streamed straight over the child pipe.nWrists reeking of cut glass.nIt's the digital- nnCut.nnIt's the well water black of a digital clock.nnIt's what happens.nnThe first lienis that you are unique in a remote way,nnatural peace child.nSqueezing the earth around it's skin shedding fist,nas soon as the stick came off the sand,nthey knew,nthat there was that magnetic something to the number seven.
Earthsick
Subtle
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Lyrics by Subtle
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