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Blast Report

In the last blast
At the doctor’s house
Three vases were broken
And the sentry’s shack shaken
And the walls cracked
And the cracks
The numbers are more than our letters
Begging, demanding
For how many ways I can fuck
For how many ways I can raise my babies
For how many ways I can preach shits;
In the previous blast
It was a professor or an engineer
Who the hell would care who they are
When all is flooded with placelessness
All we did was to hand the bombs over
And threaten
And tell the sheep
We got the detonators;
No matter how much the detractors are stupid
Tonight the revolution’s manifesto’s out
We got to go to Burma for more bombs.


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