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My brother's blood boils in my arms |
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It balls my fingers into fists |
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It bubbles, blisters, burns my palms |
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It floods with fury, fights and fits |
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It's got the good guy in me hiding |
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It kicks my humble heart around |
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It's got me fiending for the fire |
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That could finish off this town. |
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My brother's blood on a cherry tree |
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It stains the bark from branch to root |
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It puddles thick with pits and leaves |
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It strains the sweetness from the fruit |
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It kept me looking for communion |
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A meeting point off underground |
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An empty plot I could climb into |
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An (iron) (lightening) cartoon promise in my mouth |
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A blackout oath I swore and meant |
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But couldn't conjure up again |
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I don't know one thing about my brother's blood |
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My brother's blood |
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In my dirty lungs |
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In my crooked mouth |
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On my swollen tongue |
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On my father's gun |
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In each stranger's face |
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Across the bluebird sky |
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On each hand I shake |
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Night after night |
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Each chuckled prayer |
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Such sweet relief |
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Fists full of hair |
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My brother's back |
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My father's arms |
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Each twisted fact |
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In my sorry heart |
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All that dialogue |
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Doubling back at me |
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All that tangled talk |
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All that growling need |
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And each desperate drive |
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For elusive peace |
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And each endless night |
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And each wasted week |
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I spit and scream "what's done is done |
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Go make your peace with everyone" |
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They don't need to know about my brother's blood. |
