13 Days

(13, 13, 13)

Heavy the head of the Kennedy crown now

90 the miles to the burial ground now

October rot in the Florida lungs

Theology of the silo and the salt

Khrushchev holding a shoe to the throat of the sun (Pound it, shoe to the throat)

I see the Jupiter steel in the Turkish dirt

Iron and arsenic, the internal void

16 ships like a blade on the skin

Of the Atlantic, manic, the panic sets in (16, cut it deep)

I am the ghost of Guantanamo Bay

Feeding the fallout to the dogs of the day

1962, the year of the ash

Waiting for the sky to turn into a flash (13, 13, 13)

The graveyard aesthetic of the Oval Office floor

Counting the seconds like a debt to the war (13 days, 13 graves, 13 days, 13 graves, 13 days, 13 graves, 13 days, 13 graves)

90 miles to the end of the map

Psychological duality, the trigger in the lap

Havana is a coffin made of cedar and lead

We are the children of the nuclear dead (Burial, lead, dead)

Moscow is calling on a line made of wire

While the world sits down in the middle of the fire

Ballistics and psalms, the liturgy of the bomb

Zero the number where the soul becomes calm (Zero, zero, zero)

I am the manic god of the bunker walls

Watching the masonry crack as it falls

Aggressive silence in the Situation Room

90 miles of water, ninety miles of doom

Exchanging the sunlight for a piece of the pit

The black lung of the planet and the rot of it (13, burn it all)

One finger on the button, one foot in the grave

No salvation for the coward or the brave