Name: Ode to a Red Contrast
Duration: 57 s
Channel: BSG & Milkman
Description: "Ode to a Red Contrast" is a song by The BSG. Church bells, gunshots, religion, oh my! This piece gives even me the chills.

Ode to a Red Contrast

The BSG

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Church bells, gunshots, religion, oh my! This piece gives even me the chills.

artist chicago spoken word poet minnesota duluth slam poetry bsg the bsg brandon st germaine

The BSG

Spoken word slam ego-poet with rap influences and Modest Mouse esque theology

The BSG is a 3 foot tall white Duluth Minnesotain kid with more mouth than a 3 foot tall white kid should have. Ego-poet, concept artist, spoken word influentialist, activist, and comedian, BSG tells it like it is.

Song Info

Genre

Podcasts • Poetry

Charts

#3,597 today Peak #24

#581 in subgenre Peak #6

Author

BSG & Milkman

Rights

Zentatsu

Uploaded

February 27, 2006

Track Files

MP3

MP3 1.8 MB • 128 kbps • 0:57

Story behind the song

This piece was induced by Tools "Disgustipated" song, plus my need for a new sort of poem.  This is one of my FEW poems with any hidden messages/similes/allusions.  Milkman decided to work with it and did a kickass job remastering it.  Well done, pal.

Lyrics

You woke up in your alley and you stared across towards the church from which the gunshot rang. Stumbling from the beer you had for breakfast, you use the vodka bottle in your hand as a crutch and clip clopped across the road and into the cathedral. Your head hurt as if full. You kept it straight up and down as not to drain the alcohol from your ears. Despite your efforts, a trickle of something red poured out onto the white tiled church floor. This wouldn’t do.

“Thank you Jesus! Amen! God is good.” the man wearing white robes like white tiles said in the front of the cathedral. Your empty hand was held out in front of you with something like a gun shining in the candle lights. Cries like babies that were hidden away in the cry room rang out like church bells as 2 bullets had escaped a gun. The priest was red splotches on white tiles as he fell over the collection plate, as if offering himself to the cause of God.

And in this, the cathedral was a mass of broken plaster lying next to open eye sleepers across the red-polka dotted tiles. And the sheep began to baa. 1 hundred voices muffled by gunshot wounds all softly baaing as the black sheep fed his brothers to the wolf.

You spoke for the first time to this red splotched flock and said that “God is only as good as the devil is bad. Without red, there is no contrast.” And red was the sun setting over your yesterday.

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