1. |
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All the earth, thrown to the sky
It was no good day, this storm made it worse. Could blow down one full grown man but the red dust was the worst. “This must be god’s wrath”, Old Man Turner said. “It’s just the weather”, Blind Miss Cornwall claimed. Dust was red as blood, like blood my Ma spat out. Before she left this world she coughed in pain. Pa couldn’t bear this, he’d hung himself from a rafter in our barn. The sky was dark while i dug their grave. One grave for both—together till the end and beyond. Storm still howled, house went down. Storm still howled, trees went down. I took cover beside the grave and then the barn went down. Ready to drown in dust, ready to drown in sand, ready to drown in dirt. Ready to drown if earth won’t spit me out. It was then when i gave up. I took a cigarette, i took what was coming. Sand burned my eyes, nothing i could see. Sand ripped off my shirt then my skin was gone. “Oh Lord, why me?”, I screamed. “Shoulda axed me”, the demon said when i smelled his foul sulphured breath.
Inspiration: 1st chapter of Joe R. Lansdale’s “All the earth, thrown to the sky”
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2. |
Desierto de la muerte
03:17
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Desierto de la muerte
A rusty knive, five bullets left—seven still to go. They killed my son and my loving wife—Santera, teach ’em woe! I’m waiting in la desierto (he can smell the scent of blood), killing’s on my mind! Red the sand beneath my feet, and red my eyes so bright. Red the glow of the setting sun that bathed me in its light. Red … is the sand! I see them coming across the dune (so mighty he here stands). The roar of my gun and five go down (their screams fill him with joy). My knive sticks in one gringo’s eye (so savage is his thirst) … and disembowled by the Ranger’s sword my rage is hungry, still! … A rope woven of rage and hate—Intestino delgado … I rip it out, so tight its tied around the Ranger’s neck. And now on this Saguaro—it’s where they found his swingin’ hide. A feast for vultures, a blossomed flower …
Es nombre: Sangre del ranchero.
Inspiration: Saguaros
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3. |
Pop. soon none
03:13
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Pop. soon none
First woe rode into town, then fear had settled down. (Yucky) … the smell of blood, a party on gallows heights. What the hell went wrong? So what went wrong … he once had a heart, he once knew love. You gotta tell me: What the hell went wrong? (There is no rest for the damned.) Hell had spit him out. Remorse—an act not known … Eternal—his fate it was … And blood he drank like shine … His knife is made out of bones, his hat out of human skin. He waits, he never sleeps. He kills, he never fails.
Inspiration: Garth Ennis’ “Saint of Killers”, Cormack McCarthy’s “Blood Meridian”
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