Two Kinds Missouri

There are two kinds of people. There are those who see the skulls, and there are those that do not. There are those who see the bones, and there are those that do not. There are those who burn by rhythm, and there are those that do not. These all go on forward, forever cascading and imminent underneath it all.

If you had an opportunity. If you could see with an inner eye. If you had eyes that see. If we were together, smiling teeth. Diamonds exploding in our minds, that cut.

There, above the trees of fall. There, in the hard unforgiving dirt beneath. There, the twisted head of an owl. There, the highway. There, a thousand cars pass by, and then a thousand more, merciless sucking going gone.

There, underneath and inside the river valley lies a man. The man lies, staring upward, and digs his hands into the earth. He sweats though it is cold. He thirsts beside water. Awake, he dreams.

Living, he digs his own grave.
Dying, he finds that he lives.

There are two kinds of people.

Read the Lyric from the Beginning