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Ellis Island, 1894: I left the homeland for an all aboard.
This American dream is all that I sought,
the things on my back are all that I got.
Fields of golden grain flow gently across the plains
I’ve got this under control
But I feel weary, a growing head cold.
Frost, rain, snow, blizzard.
This maelstrom of ice and wind
Piercing my dreams and skin
Someone talk to me, talk to me
Isolation, its taking its hold.
When I came to this country, everything seemed so right
My family, my love, they wait for me.
but this harvest is too much to bear,
the fruits of my labor are testing me,
They’ve got nowhere to grow.
So I climb, and I build, and it’s not all just for show.
this mountain of grain shall be stored
Maybe this time I will get a break.
This is how we scrape the sky. Forsake the sun.
(Broken down in the city, growing apart
But I’ve found I’m writing in the book
Growing apart in the city, apart from her
I’m writing in the book
The disease grows, this cancer is spreading
Pushing into her lungs, Is anger my excuse today??
"God died when I was young. She never said a word. She could not speak a word."


from Ebola and the Botanist, released November 11, 2011



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I, Apparatus Minot, North Dakota

Chaotic, melodic hardcore. 2008-2011

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