Feast Of O's (extract)

from The Letters (extracts) by Pol To Paul

/

lyrics

Woken by the bawdy bellows
of some loud and noisome fellows,
creeping to my bed in thick billows,
seeping through my pile of pillows.
Bigots belching something callow,
bawdy bellows, noisome fellows,
their angry argot and surly lingo.
I bury my face as my forehead furrows.

I was mellow.

I watch the machos and the bozos
rev a turbo, sport a logo.
Land is fallow, harvests narrow,
bleak predictions for tomorrow.
The bawdy bellows of noisome fellows
underneath my darkened window,
a feast of O’s so hard to swallow
just as I was getting mellow.

I was mellow.

Now I’m growing gently gung-ho,
it’s time to leave my crumpled pillow.
Greasing up some weighty ammo
is a pleasure I won’t forego.
Tucked behind a well-trimmed hedgerow,
I’ll be here until the cockcrow
for to slay these noisome fellows
with a blow from my trusty crossbow.
Then hop home through field and meadow
like a jaunty morning sparrow.
I believe it’s hard to know
quite when the corpses go dark yellow.

I was mellow.

credits

from The Letters (extracts), released February 17, 2017
Paul Grundy: Texts, Voices, Piano
Pol Desmurs: synths, electronic

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Pol To Paul Lille, France

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