bob mould’s screaming eight miles high
can you feel his sheets of pain inside yer
headphones boy take notes & duplicate
on yer long walks home through those
graveyards in yer long coat there’s that
crow he’s eating all yer dead mix-tapes
feature angry men & the odd soft-rock
stooge eg john cougar’s song scarecrow
that’s the sound of yer stadium funeral
furious bic lighters melt in unison only
stinking out the stands forcing another
evacuation pathetic really listen to yer
idol bob mould screaming eight miles
high he’s not coming down (off speed
apparently that was his problem not to
mention homophobia eight (gay miles
high & he’s not going back! inside that
electric closet now it’s our fathers who
take the pills that were meant for the
likes of bob dressed in his incendiary
black you’ll come around to this way
of thinking some day come hell’s high
water mark eight miles high the flood
of fuel for bob’s maniacal fire screams
eight miles high fucked if I’m coming!
fuck you sixty eight miles fucking high
& it’s too late to come down now we’re
in outer space bob we’re still alive how
i scream six hundred & sixty six miles
higher than I’ve ever been higher than
rainy crow grey streets of down town
known for that sad sound never touch
down bob taking me six thousand six
hundred & sixty six point eight miles
beyond darkness at the edges of town
& nowhere is yer warmth to be found
in a stadium’s steel glare fans remain
there laughing at yer shapeless forms
fucking hair metal sidewalk scenes &
headjobs in black limousines we’re all
living bob & we’re all standing alone
higher than the sun or even the byrds!

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