Karma and Somebody

When my father got out of the army he'd been trained to sing and kill, as if those skills were interchangeable or all within the range of a proud and so american, hold up, what the fuck am I doing here kind of agreement and argument at the same / when my father got out and became somebody they came for him screaming his songs into dainty little campaign eruptions and such beautiful cars and subtle too like japan rouge. But he hid his deepest arrangements in the velvet gun case and blew them to pieces whenever anyone slick knocked on the door looking for— The popular shit is always the saddest phase of a black man's fame on film or radio. Savor that shit though. It means you're the absolute best and jest is everywhere and you've adjusted so rare and wholly like you were there already in your mind.