Bulls Must Doze II
Core Torpor
Pain Baffles
It’s into a world of hurt we waken every morn,
to the time we go to dirt, from the moment born.
Screaming out into the light until our silent getaway,
wending way through war and fight, dark of night and blast of day.
Life is but a battleground, endless maps of conflagration,
blood its color, death its sound, nation pitted versus nation.
For the few there are good gods who baffle all this pain.
But none of us can beat the odds and in this world remain.
Lap Band
Scooter McQuail and the Faulkland Twins
had this one song they sang
with rosary beads in their mouths.
Sounded like angels with special needs.
And sometimes resulted in choking.
Well, one could see how this could be redefined
in devilish ways, and that, indeed, was the case,
and they became very popular.
One of the twins married Tree Vincent’s
lock-jawed son and a new percussion was born.
McQuail took up throat singing and was scooped
by a didgeridoo trio: sounded like a battle
of the painfully lap banded inside a cage of ham shanks.