black lung black life the black hole stuck inside my half black heavy heart as if these stupid words might play some part in status quos in sleeper holds in middle passage or tobacco roads just like four hundred years of loaded guns might somehow be undone by singing songs like they were bricks when were were trading lives for loose cigarettes and blackened eyes and blackened lungs and free tvs and capsicum clouds and if there is a god well she dont care at all if we we sing the songs we throw the bricks were trying to breathe but were choking on words like pig and im just trying im trying to breathe again it changes nothing but i i guess i need to pretend and im just trying im trying to breathe again it changes nothing but sometimes it helps to pretend1