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I always ask people after they hear this song "Do you think you just listened to a rap song?" And everybody says no. But everybody is wrong.
The will of John Roach is as follows:
As those who know me may not or not want to know, an oak tree grows within your soul whose sole M.O. is to see its seeds are sown.
So beads of sweat bleed from your bones to soak the soil that chokes your throats and holds your noses closed.
And down you go, under the rush of the Orinoco. And out in the brush there’s a lonely old crone in a moth-eaten cloak or an old kimono, waving and raving, saying
“No no no no, don’t lose the flow
Or hope against hope
Not all knots are rope on rope, you dope!
You owe me one blood oath!
You don’t know what you don’t know,
Duh, I know!
You wrote some nice sentences
In a few mirrors for princes
Now you’re here as my apprentice
Get a tattoo that reads Pretentious!
Swing for the benches!
Sing a song of disbelief suspension!
Start a band called The Fifth Declension!
Steal a manuscript and palimpsest it!”
The end offers no respite from the curses you’ve been blessed with.
Voodoo is still infinite.
And you who knew me now witnesseth:
I affirm this from within it. I, the undersigned, admit it’s all a lie and I leave my business, in receivership, to my children.
Tear down the buildings! Desecrate the past,
God willing! You just can’t placate these Hesychasts. Accept your fate; it too shall pass.
At last, the ugliest of wars whose horsemen roar over rondos adjusts its scores.
If you’d please, shut the coffin door.