Buckfever Underground Blood Red Land
you know, this land, the good, the bad, the maribous, the
storks, mosquitoes and dogs and the chain of food through
the mountains and valleys and parks, the wind and the
dust and rust can blow and blast the beat, the bomb, the
weather, the towns are gone, rwanda, burundi, botswana,
the congo, ghana, niger, morocco, mozambique and zim,
kenya, cameroon, angola and nam, disease, the grease,
release, the power, the priests, the past, the hurt, the
rain to heal and the will to live, to steal, to kill, to
take, to keep, forgive and move on, again, the maize, the
sweat, the stains, the rain and the hungry child, the
tender moon and the tilled soil, corrupt and barren,
governments, corruption and the guns and the blood and
the oil and the diamonds, the orchards and fields and the
white cattle egret against the sky, watch the lightning
crackling over the hills of the blood red land with the
hate and the love go on go on go on, it stops at a wall,
a bullet-hole and the wind alone through an empty room
and the child with train tickets to the see to be happy
for once in his life once in his life in the blood red
land in the blood red land.
