Black Mold (Song for a New March)

from by Dry Days

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All landlords are slumlords, all judges are jailers.

The lord works in mysterious ways
But today he finally called us back
He said he’s sorry for the things he hasn’t done
He said he’s gonna make it up

He’s gonna come by tomorrow
Some time or other
Hide the mattresses, hide the evidence
Run for cover

And when he opens up the walls
He finds nothing inside
But the black mold grows in the cracks and in the spaces in between
In the corners of our lives

And there you go, running up the stairs
Trapped in the cages that you built
And here we are, lying on the roof
We feel the world begin to tilt

I wake up early, you just got in off the bus
I get dressed, you change and change and change
Meet downstairs, bike down to the courthouse
Some things stay the same

And when the judge walks in the room
Everybody stands
But the black mold grows in the cracks and in the spaces in between
And it takes us by the hand

In the kitchen, dishes piled high
We sit on the floor, handle pens like dynamite
Torn up magazines, hopes and fears and visions
In the waning light

And as it gets late we’re talkin’ politics again
Try to spill our hearts out of our mouths
We gotta find a way of building something better
We gotta find a way out

And when we fall into our beds
We dream of shapeless things
But the black mold grows in the cracks and the spaces in between
From where our visions spring


from Dry Days, released September 1, 2016



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Dry Days Oakland, California

commie folk faggot shit. not watching the world burn, but being the burning world.

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