Salva from Volksbaggage by The Illustrated

Boiling all heads
Scrambling all brains
They who slung the heavy poem tomes
And the robes of vintage ids
For the yonder sins of native kids
A son’s funeral rounds are shot in peace
Jarhead jungle scars’ pinebox napalm eclipse
He is a surgery for soil
Worm legs scrubbing dirt coils
They take root, slowly stretching root
God rest you chanting nuns
God rest you razored lame
How many have I blasted blind
Noncoms in enemy lines?
I saw men shooting girls
I saw kids killing kids
I saw books and booking heads and brooking dread
...and heavy death...
And amazing grenades!
How asleep without sound!
How deep I creep into corpse littered grounds!
And holy hell and holy hell and holy hell
and holy hell and holy hell and holy hell
And we say that a match was struck
and we say that a book was shut
and we say that pen went blunt
and we say that the ink was clearly blood
and holy hell and holy hell and holy hell
and holy hell and holy hell and holy hell

• Hardcore
• Punk
• folk
• post-hardcore
• Sarasota