The disturbances of guns and poems which took place - Johnny Pulp and the Lemonheads

The nineteenth century casts its shadow and there are trees that were there at the time. Moss and toadstools squat through history and the sound of guns and swamps and trees being felled are like traumas inside themselves. Everything will be cast aside and forgotten. I close the shutters on the cabin and wait for the storm to cover the sun at noon and all will perish and it will end. The well is dry and the ice thinner than last year. What strange birds fly across the way and in the sea when we came here we saw monsters churning underneath us and we thought we would capsize and die. I wish I had. I met a widow and we lived for a time down by the creek until her cattle ran off and she followed them and never returned. It was a slow summer that year and my crops were only half what I had planned. I am poor at the land to be honest and lately drink too much and fall in love and then fall back like black corn. Now the time ends and the animal at the edge of my pasture is strong and evil and I have no bullets for my gun. What did anyone gain by coming to this earth all naked and shining and lone? So I'm tired of waiting the departure and my love is dead and all is finished for me.