1. |
|
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|
collapsed under the weight
of the late great lincoln state
when new jersey fell off into the ocean
remember first reading the words
hands clenched tight around yours0
memories sprung like spores in the air
the smell of smoke
pine barrens burnt to a bush
moses standing, eyes wide in disbelief
rang the liberty bell
while i was asleep in my bed
woke up next to my girl
and sky bleeding red
|
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2. |
whats left of the tracks
03:49
|
|
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|
quarter to 12
sign the receipt with broken pen
"New Austin Hitlon" in worn letters down the side
outside the bar its cold
like when the fan spun too long in your bedroom
and the people flood into the streets
open tabs and half spilled drinks
hand in hand
couldnt find your face in the crowd
still pretended i wasn't looking around
we walked to whats left of the tracks
i thought about your fingers
and the way you talk about politics
your jet black hair invisible in your outline
leaving only a pale white circle
and two shining eyes
you asked me what i thought a train sounded like
said i dont know
but it must sound something like your voice inside my head
|
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3. |
someday soon
01:18
|
|
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4. |
|
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|
somewhere else
i live
with someone else
i thought
you had left
the door
still creaking shut
got up
and felt the spin
laid down
and died again
i slept
all through the day
got up
like we'd forget
centuries in my mind
before i got up for the day
its monday again
we've all got work to do
it's the still the only routine
that i am born into
and still
when i see you
you'll float
across the room
like christ
a floor above
stomps down
to quiet us
he'll call
the cops again
you'll ash
your cigarette
we'll sleep
like wounded mice
too dark
for us to fight
i was feeling fine
after i got down for the night
and turned off the lights
before i looked to you
or at least the spot
i thought you were born into
your kolden hair still clings to my pillow
i wake up pulling strands off me
wrapped around my neck
like a noose i can barely feel whats real
any more
|
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5. |
|
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|
find yourself
staring at black lines in the light
find yourself
caught in between the sounds of the nightlife
sitting in front of dusty maps of the old america
highways stretch out in every direction
route 55
highway 61
and you never learned how to read them on your own
you just liked the company between you and the empty roads
but they're just ghosts, they're just dirt paths in the sand
they're just echos of the old world we'll never know
we'll never know
we'll never know
collapsed under the weight of the late great lincoln state
woke up silently next to my girl, sleeping
turned away, faced the wall
it was painted white since the night of the grey burst
and in the old photographs, all their eyes are white
we were painting in the rest
and in the old photographs, everything's alright
it's alright
|
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Spectral Bride Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
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