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lyrics

Flick a plea in the fountain
penny squeaks in-- almost missed
displaced splash squats patronizing on the edge
“I but for the grace of luck am your misfortune”

Tense little contact lens
For God knows what monster if not the full bust of Abraham
Maybe now that he can see he’ll wreck claymation havoc
And the cardboard cuts will crumble and the spectacle will spark a little
A new bronzeman will draw his pen
We always let the dead see, prop em up against the city
So we can snub them more thoroughly

While just the humble palm trees
could bury us guilt-free
Those lawless hiccups of integrity
Funneling eyes from the horizon
The wooden spines of all of this
And if i’m a god damn line cook i say

Fuck this, never again
What is the point of not doing drugs?
My nostaliga is my legacy
My epitaph will be retro and groovy
written in Hollywood motel font

It gets cold here in the desert
The hot blue glow of darkness nodding off
the buzz of vitals through the fence
the tissues piling up beneath the rising skin of day life
the last with lips that give a smack

credits

from The New Uncertainty, released August 9, 2016

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