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Sold Out
lyrics
scrub my little body on stones like
seven-year-old sendspace links long dead
take these obstacles as signs of flow
sixteen different shades of red
signs of accretion (potentially cancerous)
assembling into canon hand over hand
into semantics with supposed complexity
but really just ruled by supply and demand
and I know you're good right and pure or whatever
when the chips come down I know I can do better
oh the geographies man can create
without why or wherefore
but man have you ever made a map of a land
that you didn't try to conquor
I rise from the ground and I reach for my cane
but I left it way back in massachusetts
generally I feel like an imposter to pain
but right now I could really fucking use it
I reach for my headphones (those twin singing earmuffs)
hoping the [bleeding] will halt
rub what you wrote in my little red wounds
and instead it stings me like salt
and you've laced your burdens up light as a feather
but when you're weighted down I know I can do better
I know we're all trying to do good in this world
but your contradictions test me
man like you can do anything he likes
so good behavior doesn't impress me
blood on my body oh I forgot
in the depths of my petty polemic
but it dries like every damn thing in this world
and I admit I begin to forget it
I stalk east to my cabin in the middle of nowhere
to lick what remains of my wounds
to suck up the things that are stuck to my body
and spit them back right hard at you
and you do it well when you're facing fair weather
but the rain's coming down I know I can do better
being around you
taught me what writing songs was for
but I don't wanna play the rules of your game
and I don't wanna write any songs anymore