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letra de strike them hard, drag them to church - caroliner

the levitts had children that weren’t exactly sane;
you’d try to ask them questions, their attention would wane
busted over the head and dragged on by the scruff
because on sundays levitts rested, only then enough

strike them hard. drag them to church
strike them hard. pull them to church.

you could bust them over the heads with gun b-tts
canoe and clubs; nothing seems to sink in or hurt
the church could calm those fleats with flute, and hymnal sound
during the sermons gag those beasts! howling out like hounds
they’d pinch, stab, hit and poke, ‘til each were purple and blue;
(having to supply stronger oak for the levitts’ personal pew.)
they started storming over something early one morning
the youngest one crawling, looking. he ran four rows
head ducked down low, before his brow smashed in, wood busting
the mess brought the others laughing and screaming, tearing up the place;
the father said, ‘enough of this’ and whipped
them outside, driving them out of his grace
this open world opened them up to open minds
up and down, like working ants destroying a tall tree
these branches came to waste and want not
because it helped build a guillotine
the blade was wide enough to chop two heads off
with edges of books and plates dirty

by digging a hole that was at the foot of the nearby orchard
taking on an army of plum-laden trees with rocks for ammo
fingers that pried up rocks and branches – from the pit, a new idea;
spread out branches & rocks to make a pictures of mother on a hill-side
split-wood t–th pointed, just like the bitter wood angry jaw
the mouth, a pile of shrubs and kindling fired to make a flaming maw
as levitts ran crazy up and across her terrible storm-wrinkled brow
the hill would have burnt up completely
unless their yelps, jumps and leaps contained somehow.

after five days of insanity including: piggy drags, gun blasts
a broken leg, t–th left in the creek, cloth burning, rope burn
dirt war, porch busting; drowsiness put them to sleep
it’s a wonder no one was k!lled, including the onlookers
(who could tolerate yet sustain). those bruised messes were
flute-tamed water dropped on pipes and made a somber sound
the rider had more life than a corral of horses bucking up forever;
never had such a sound been heard, and never such an audience the water

the years rolled, one meal every day, followed by the other
young years left the youths, and the weather
honored the brothers and sisters. their minds aging
no longer mischief were they pursuing, for they had learned
to hammer logs and sometimes thumbs in the calm of aging

- caroliner

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