1. |
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I slipped a note under a dead mans door
Id been knocking for a month but I couldnt know for sure
Im a dog with a dead nose Im a subway rat
I just want to kiss somebody in a Sunday hat
Beautiful Eurydice
Mutable propinquity
Gas station in Soiux City
Follow me out of Dakota
Dont turn on me i wouldnt turn on you
kidnapped beaten and drugged but never robbed
Samson's barber was just doing his job
You know a dirty lying cheater is a real heartthrob
You’ll never pass the pearly gates if you wont touch a doorknob
chorus
The new smell of death is making me sick
Im a dog with a dead nose and im a masochist
Giving head or telling tales, its impossible to pick
Manipulation, old money, and one average dick
chorus
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2. |
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I'm a prophet for the voices and they only speak to me
I’m a prophet for the numbers and they only come to me
Never profit from your voice if you never sing in key
I’m the worst person alive I wish that guy killed me
I’m a prophet, I’m immortal, even I cant kill me
I’m so good at parallel parking that it has to happen to me
I’m so fucked up i tic so much they said i have tourette's
If you like to smoke so much, smoke the whole carton of cigarettes
If you love to be in love, love til youve got nothing left
smoke that whole carton of love til your life is loved to death
it happened to you from six to twelve then you thought you were safe
and then three times in just one year? it’s enough to make you break
I’m a prophet for the voices and they only speak to me
I'm a prophet for the cards, they only speak to me
I’m a profit for the numbers and they only come to me
I'm a prophet, I'm immortal, I can't kill me
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3. |
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I'm standing in your corridor
I wonder what I'm waiting for
The leaves are drifting out to sea
I'm waiting for you desperately
All things beautiful
All things beautiful
I want everything
I want everything
You call us with silent seas
You call us in our tiny boats
Gather us in with the storm
And cast us out upon the shore
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4. |
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breath always sour with acid
throwing up fruit thats been rotting
sweat smells just like a body
you sat on my chest just like he did
stranger laughed when he covered my airway
You read me cover to cover
You didnt laugh, you covered the bases
i wake up gasping and kick off the covers
Bruises ripen for so long like fruit does
Ripe and rotting and sickly sweet odor
I dont believe that you didnt see it
You took my shirt off and you said nothing
Skin soft and bruised like an apple
I thought he was going to kill me
Id never see you again, this is it
Just months later you called just to tell me
If I die then you wont give a shit
Breath like a sweet rotting apple
Never thought it would be repeated
Piss yellow bruises and fruit skin
And you spat in my face just like he did
Skin on a fruit, rot and remember
The weight of a warm fruitless body
The weight of the fruit on the scale
Fruit that just rots and remembers
|
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5. |
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6. |
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yellow enamel around the poles warns danger poisonous flower;
He loves the dirty bus In the time it takes to poison us he Showers
its lightness transparent, honest, you can see all contamination.
Politeness apparent, a promise, fancy intoxication
It hurts to be cold
And its lonely up here
I dont want to be old
If i have to be queer
Our naive hero wore gloves to hold the poles, and he felt fine about it.
But the dirt got under, and took control, and he found himself in the cockpit
The bus moved over the earth and so did the plane our hero sat in
He remembered a birth and a home and champagne and a wife who dressed in satin
Our hero woke up looked down and saw the earth had disappeared
All he could do was fly until the fuel ran out and pop his ears
And hed fall forever, getting used to lying pressed up on the ceiling
And he missed the bus and the animals and human range of feelings
It hurts to be cold
And its lonely up here
I dont want to be old
If i have to be queer
two years went by, our hero had eaten all but his own meat
And his ceiling bed fashioned out of stuffing from the seats
There were no clouds still out there and the outside was just black
But he could feel he was still falling from the fluid in his back
—
Our hero was so hungry and so tired of being alone
To try to get a buzz he took a swig of old cologne
The longest fall in history was nowhere near an end
And the strongest tallest mystery of an infinite descent
He couldnt stand it anymore and he crawled over to the hatch
And with the cologne courage opened up the heavy latch
Sucked out the door and screaming til he passed out in the sky
His body didnt fight it, he was two years late to die
But aching he woke up and he was lying on the floor
And the crowded bus around him wasnt talking anymore
|
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7. |
Seven Eleven (Paradise)
01:38
|
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|
When I go to heaven, its 7-11, my personal paradise
Nothing can hurt me, just drinking a slurpee, and eating my favorite slice
The cashiers are angels, and nothing is painful, good thing i always believed in god
The ether smells bleachy, Im glad he forgives me for all of that male fraud
I am exalted, the only thing assaulted is the peanut in my trail mix
I say my final amen, Ill never be scared again, and the radio plays stevie nicks
The pain was all worth it, the afterlifes perfect, gonna stay for eternity
In 7-11, my personal heaven, convenience and divinity
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8. |
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|
he feels her eyes reading
his horoscope
to feel a connection
to a heart that is broke
but the heart is connected
to every moon she sees
when you feel feel that pull
you already feel me
my ears ring when you get up at night
for a glass of water and a d buried sense of wrong
dark blue in the kitchen thats not yet familiar
it jerks me awake, like a telephone wire
the door never closes
because we're two satalites
feeling the other’s gravity
god put a telephone into my brain
i’m a cyborg for you
with the eye of tulane
god put a telephone into your guts
so you can feel without thinking
A59592
when you think of me suddenly
it’s cause im thinking of you
and this string i cant cut is an immortal thing
i know that you feel me
it isnt obsession
it’s the pull of the telephone strings
if you called me up
i would always answer
earthly pain is much weaker than telephone strings
|
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Krooksy Airbus Albany, New York
just because u can't make music doesn't mean u shouldn't :)
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