BRUNK HOWARD


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maternal feelings

I’m feeling maternal to my core.

Something eternal must have come through my door.

There’s lots of births scrambling for life.

Lots of deaths carrying knives.

Let’s snatch our story line from its grave.

The unredeemable ain’t ours to save.

I’m carrying a hundred years of grime.

My collar’s so tight I could choke on time.


Feels like a hundred years and I’m feeling maternal.

What’s a hundred years swimming in the eternal?

You could drown in a sea that big.

I’m not going down into every grave I dig.

Graves of tears that could swamp that sea.

Graves of fears with tombstones big as trees.

Let’s snatch our story line from its grave.

The unredeemable ain’t ours to save.

I’m carrying a hundred years of grime.

My collar’s so tight I could choke on time.


Launderette, laundry service,

Coin machines that make you nervous.

Some shirts only get clean on rocks.

Watch out you don’t lose your socks.

The river is fast and the rocks are sharp.

Sometimes your past can cut your heart.


Well the maternal, the maternal in me

Is tied with time and aching to bust out free.

Ideas and panaceas

Are looking to end every road blocked via

Traffic cops, four-way stops,

Toy guns that go pop,

Bang, bang, you’re dead in your mind.

You’re dead in your heart makes two of a kind.

You can’t win with that deck.

Sometimes you got to stick out your neck.

Let’s snatch our story line from its grave.

The unredeemable ain’t ours to save.

I’m carrying a hundred years of grime.

My collar’s so tight I could choke on time.