Sunlight breathes heavy sometimes
and shakes the windows
and threatens a mudslide
and we cower in our outhouses
grasping at straws
for some kind of salvation

and the White Man upstairs
doesn’t mind us one way
or the other, and his PA speaker
is blown and muffled and
when he talks we listen
but we don’t understand

so we drive to the nearest
freshwater supply and
we pitch our tents and
play our songs and
pray and pray and pray
but there’s still terror to be had:
As much fun as we’re having
the ends don’t meet

So the White Man’s thugs,
they come to us with
billy clubs and megaphones
and we’re fully at a loss
but for every guy that gets away
there’s ten that don’t start running

But boy, if they catch me they’ll
flail me something good and
shout and say ‘didn’t we tell you
to stay put, sir?’ and I’ll be honest
when I say ‘I don’t know’ but
they won’t hear it:
if their megaphones are broken
then their hearing aids are
off alltogether