1. |
Face In The Bile
01:26
|
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i have a burden
my hope on the line
ring of vomit around a house
turn my neck and cry
the sun is melting
bring me my iron cage
my archipelago girl
my winter name
there are no airplanes in the sky
there are no people passing by
face in the bile.
fatalists teenage daughter
i died for her lust
figure moves along a staircase
empty bedroom slut
crying tears of glitter
seattle seahawks
people laugh behind the tv glass
but i can't even talk
there are no feelings left to sigh
there are no women saying hi
face in the bile.
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2. |
Dried In The Rain
03:33
|
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|
you have a mask to fake a broken heart
and the boys all follow suit
they've got needles and a bruise
you have an age, and that's why i don't want it
i got perspectives from my other female friends
you have a garage and that's where it began
from the ceiling to the wall
from the wall to the wallpaper slot
you have 1000 boys in the tomb
you put a tarp over your garden in the summertime
but what did i leave behind in your eyes?
are they really sores, or is it just a story from the appalacian boys who've been there before? draw me a picture with some charcoal and a bunch of spotted blood. and she reaches out for caramel but's only from above.
you have a mask to fake a broken heart
you put a tarp over your garden
you have a million boys at your alter
you put a tarp over your garden
you put a tarp...
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3. |
Unsung
04:40
|
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ruin my life. build another bloodstained bed with the brimstone boys.
can't believe you're married. not quite in rings but with flesh.
study parking lot spaces and kittens dripping with bile.
leave. i want you to go home.
centuries later, laying in my sphere
gnawing on thank you cards.
you pour me bleach in a wooden cup.
you birth a smile that symbolizes desire.
it's not my fault, tonight.
it's not my fault, tonight.
you close your eyes, for a brief second
this song remains unsung.
it's that time of night. slow dance baby, and you're looking around the room.
i could do you right. check my phone, as you breathe in the air.
walkin' with that man, i'd like to kill him. been brushing my hair, keeping my teeth clean.
don't i look like a human? you forgot i was male. a crumpled corpse in the doorway.
i am a pop-up history book of tonight.
i am the silence on tearstained lips.
so write a poem, and throw it in the garbage.
buy a guitar, and fill it full of vomit.
i'm so happy.
i'm so sorry.
i'm so cursed.
this song remains unsung.
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