Them Airs Dreamt Of A House
Time and again
The oil slick grows thicker
And men come with armies of men
You lead with your gun
You dreamt of a big house
Where everyone holds hands and sings
Arrived on your own
The soil's too rocky
You cannot plant bullet corn here
Final intent:
Fine soil dropped upon me
To bury me out in the fields
Horrible men
Masquerading as a group of ten
Nervousness
A wallaby could not jump this fence
Around you, around you
Get the shrine
Allowing you to find a line
Leading to the other side of my relief
At finding a retreat
At last, another sight to see
