Text: Mountain Goats, The. Going To Bolivia.

john: it is the only appliance that grinds the grain into flour

and kneads the dough in the same container



I cut myself a two-foot switch from some tropical hardwood nearby.

and the sounds of a carnival drifted miraculously

through the air from a thousand miles away.

the monkeys jumped from tree to tree.

it sent a deathly chill through me

in bolivia



wildcats I had never seen claimed places in my room.

animal noises rang through the thick brush like voices from the tomb.

I saw the freshly polished chrome

gleaming in the mid-day sun.

and I knew that you were coming home

to bolivia.



hey hey