But your sense of timing is
As good as your kindliness:
You rape and slay but also
Breathe life into a raw soul.

And here am I, merry in tears -
The sweet sound of your lira -,
Wishing the ocean would part
So I could touch his kind heart.

We’d make music in our bliss,
Cure plagues with a gentle kiss.
Tear the silk veil between worlds
If our hands got to meet and hold.

Nothing but your everlasting visit
Can calcify our bones and spirits.
And you owe us blessed toil at last.
For us never to part you cannot rest.

Give us the shelter of windy cliffs.
Tangled hair and bodies: soul lifts.
Aged rocks beneath our feet shall be
The base for our life of perpetual glee.

Big city windows of green interfere
In our flight plans, cosmic and dear.
Plunging blood tears of mine fall hard
On the carpet where you lay, off-guard.

“You mourned long enough, darling,
For a corpse wrapped up in pure sin.”
But, brother, at this time I’m disgraced,
Tainted by your Devil’s close embrace.

“Wonder why it took you so much time
To realize it was all in your own mind.”
But, brother, it is my duty, not yours,
To tell us when to end the fierce war.

I put my hand in the fire, snort ash.
Perfume and pain: your scent lashed.
It’s the last time, I give my vile word
Just to gut it, nodding to the absurd.

There you loll, waiting to get retired.
Such an intense labor of love, satire.
Might as well send you far, far away
To where windows rain down, frayed.

Gathered around the empty space
To see the hole left face-to-face.
Forsaken ground, barren grave,
Tears of salt irrigated the place.

They prayed for its safe return,
But Cuore joined a cult to learn
About rioting treacherous Love
And destroying the Bones’ verve.

“Twin Love and the Bones of my own
Conspired against me: an overthrow!
I am the size of a closed fist and yet
My beating can neither kill nor threat!”

They put together a rescue team,
But couldn’t find the force within.
Cuore had taken it all, the old bard.
It would take some time to recharge.

One night, they found a bloody note
Near Mediastinum’s vacant abode.
Good news to all the vexed organs:
Cuore decided to father his orphans.

Had beat its cardiac muscle out thinking,
During guerilla exercises near Helsinki,
About the true nature of Love’s deeds,
Its power over the Bones and real needs.

It formulated a heartbreaking theory
To better get its brother’s cruelty:
Love’s viral hands cannot help but
Destroy what the good twin puts up.

“I can never ever win this battle:
I’m muscular, Love is cerebral.
Never throw my Bones to dogs:
My commitment to the Gods.”

Resolute despite all the bloodshed,
Cuore caught the ferry to head back.
It had decided to reinstate peace
Kindly forgiving Love’s vile caprice.

PS: It was nothing but a cruel rumor the misinformation that Cuore had been seen wandering the streets of Leeds half-dead and heavily drunk singing “All My Little Words”.

Sweat-tear-days for the farmers’ palms.
Tear-burn-month for the wives’ psalms.

Might we live or might we die here,
There is nothing more for us to fear
For this is the lowest the land can go.
We only pray Jesus can find our soul.

But I adore the sight of your wound:
Bleeding heavily on a sullied ground.
Your broken skull, broad clear eyes.
My numb pat caressing slice by slice.

I’d like for us to play some more, dear.
Let Lucretia go, it is as hard as a sneer.
Not a line, not a sigh, nothing to remind:
Sacrifice rewarded with bonds that bind.

What now? Chose to go ever deeper?
Aren’t you gonna raid all of me either?
Child of my breast and matter of my own
Chose to leave me here for the unknown.

I have heard of rooms down the hallway:
They take your heart, place it on a tray.
Whispered screams violate pure bareness.
Turn into holy liquid what once was dense.

Existence shifts quickly and burns deeply:
Fairy speech, moral treat kills dear literacy.
Will you choose them over me, your guide?
I believe you changed while tied to the tide.

Neither here nor there: hope lies elsewhere.
It is your path, your sold soul, my torn lair.
Must let and allow: alas, revolt comes about.
You are no longer stout, I am free to sprout.

And if you try and talk to me,
I’ll tear your limbs in true glee.
And if you try and be so sweet,
I’ll make hell’s feast with my fist.

You’ll taste our blood in every hit.
You’ll taste our bones in every hit.

Hear Karma’s voice on my machine:
End what was never meant to begin.
I plead for a brutal closure in hymn.
Prayers to claim for his broken chin.

You’ll have to pay for this ache.
You’ll have to suffer the disgrace.
Your sadist minuscule heart gaze
At a real opportunity to be amazed.

A soothing hand to your deviation,
Helping to fulfill your aspiration.
Violence meets pain: your fixation.
My hatred equals your redemption.

Broken teeth, natural defibrillator.
Blood on walls, your soul elevator.
The guilty escape goat, my true traitor,
Will meet Annihilation sooner or later.

PS: Hopefully this won’t result in restraining orders… LOL!

And because we are smart-asses…

A bit about the singer and composer:
Jason D. Estes is a 26 year-old American from Nevada who likes Elliott Smith and Pinback, loves his white t’s and couldn’t cry even after I blew inside his eyes for minutes. You can listen to some of his covers clicking here.

A bit about the lyricist:
Roberta Jenkins is a 25 year-old Brazilian from Rio de Janeiro who has the ego of a rock star and the humility of Calcutta. It’s been said that she is not from around here – wherever “here” is.

The two met 4 years ago on a cold winter’s day at UNC Chapel Hill, when Roberta knocked at her friend Laurie’s door and Jason answered it.

Smart Growth is a golden-hearted avalanche:
Young city planners play God out of revenge.
My dull straight lines and low-roofed houses,
Replaced just like thirty-something spouses.

Tupperware gatherings, lonesome commuting.
I fear August bombings might affect moving.
Will I have to store used bottles of milk?
Will I have to live pilled up in your filth?

They’ll build on top of us, with piles of MDF,
Cried the girl next door to the cafeteria chef.
Concrete walls will not allow a soul to breathe.
Not an emergency exit, no real reason to seethe.

That’s a construction site we’ll just have to see.
I believe they claim evolution is in store for me.
I sit back and wait while they move their gear in
To demolish the neighborhood that lives within.

Medication is on the table.
My uneasy skull is unable
To make sense of the label.
You say it’ll keep me stable.

Laughter echoes down the hall:
I recognize it as your very own.
Locked in this room all alone,
Trying to decipher your tone.

Am I committed to this cube?
You, a virus for rubes, dupes,
Settled on confining the muse,
Trapped and pierced by tubes.

I’d pass through cracks in walls
Like liquid clouds on waterfalls.
But memory cries: hair-hauled
By your fair hands back in thrall.

Patterns of red illuminating the wall
Interpretation can make the body stall

Run from captivity captivating tears
Bliss and ordeal, first cut of the year

Leave a lie out to live out of a try
Cartilage word, malleable in flight

Bend the soul back, crack-the-spine game
So tempting to wipe your tears with my pain

Another faulty fall, the pavement calls
A held breath, prayer sold to the Gods

But no real hurt comes from finding doors
At the end of silly second-floor corridors

Patterns are cruel presents from the dead
Bear away the legacy, piercing kin’s debt