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The Brown Bull

from Sludge Soda by Rust-ICK

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lyrics

The sons of gods have died for him,
The sons of mortals die;
He breathes death from his nostril's rim,
Death lightens from his eye.

Slowly he journeys to the West
Trampling the sons of light;
Beneath his hooves their limbs are pressed
Red in the wastes of night.

Beneath his hooves their limbs are pressed
Red in the wastes of night.

The shadows of the primal wars
Darken his giant sides;
And his harness gleams with glimmering stars
That light his mighty strides.

His voice is of the Deep, his path
With the fair dead is strewn;
Awful, upon his brow he hath
The great horns of the moon.

Awful, upon his brow he hath
The great horns of the moon.

The Brown Bull
Poetry by
Thomas Boyd

credits

from Sludge Soda, released August 13, 2012

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all rights reserved

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about

Rust-ICK Minot, North Dakota

From the Land of the North Wind (Minot, ND) is the Wicked Hick, Rust-ICK, a pint-sized bard with high spirit.

Rust-ICK has performed at Pangea House, International Peace Gardens, Open-Mic's, T's Tavern, Other Bar's, Basement Show's, and any venue's willing.

With Folk/Ghettotech album, "Sludge Soda", and her newest CD, "Let 'Em Have It!", Rust-ICK plays with a haphazard sense of style.
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