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| sometimes i claim to know a guy but i can't tell you what his hands look like. guess who's coming to dinner. gnashville. never in the night. never in the night when the knot grows tighter than fingers can untie and all the last half dammed rivers have gone dry does the cock crow thrice until someone is denied or the morning comes you wonder will you ever get your shit together what is that a leather sofa and a feather in an old fur hat fake tat lost in a box of cracker jacks practicing your plane wreck face in a first class lav (that's what the ghost of someone's dad might say) when they come calling, i won't go calm there is no palm or divine mitt with which to hold one's pit or seperate the human race from its enviroment no scattered ashes loosely gather asking where the fire went we're left with half truth psalms in an indecypherable scrawl in some vague extinct language ancient ink dull, almost vanished on some old brittle scroll (that's what the ghost of someone's dad might say) |
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