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The Yard

from Funeral Psalms by PM Buys

/

lyrics

The wild dog
Drenched in slaughterhouse blood
That’s dripping down
Corroded brown
Gutters towards his mouth

And the pigeons carrying
Wings of the heron
To elevate
Above the gates
For the scraps of meat that lie about

I stand in the slaughterhouse
Simply wanting out

The rats on the boulevard
Lining the slaughter yard
Hair that’s ruffled
Creep through rubble
For they are finding
Their way in

The manager
He ensures
That I am paid
A living wage
When my heart
Is the only one beating

I stand in the slaughter house
Simply wanting out.

credits

from Funeral Psalms, released January 21, 2014

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about

PM Buys Chicago, Illinois

Chicago folksinger P.M. Buys stands as any building from his city’s skyline would, stretched high and slender. With a harmonica slung from his neck and a well-aged guitar in his hands, he appears to compartmentally fit his Midwest predecessors like Woody Guthrie and Bob Dylan. Those elements, twisted with thorough classical guitar training and intense lyricism, combine for a sound entire his own. ... more

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