Decomposure - Hour 11 Lyrics
Walking hatched ribs set on an airport conveyor beltwith dead oystergrey birds cupped within each meatbelted basin,songs disconnected from first blinkand strewn across the pale corn wandering for food to breathe,each furnished with a screwdriver to pry open his stubborn epiglottisand ring a corresponding egg cup’s careful palmwith marble shells blooming a kindled swallowand survey with fleshrimmed glassesthe aquarium’s domino current through starspun exposure,future noise and present accordion swung girders’ tomorrowpractice.gelpunched and perched even with the blinds drawnIt’s not defense if you’re holding the ball.that sticker’s not an iceberg, it’s the hilt of a swordCrawl white pawns in dirty shadow while the grid is quicksand blondeto spit their shells earthspoken for the rain’s fading glowdiverted from the dry meniscus tide grass’ edged in the dark hollow cavitiesmoaning stream through the creamy extruded lathe wallet presetslinked on the table at the back.whitepetal tongue bus pass drops with your necksack,making a sound like a ceramic plate being scraped by a butterknifeyour shackled shadow sold from your coal and backpracticed thumbsripping a rictus wide open the distance between real and realistic sobirds eat onions.Turn hearts into attacksand a cross into crosshairsprinciples, not polls.she kit mobile behind bat seamstress manorupsetting a truckful of nails around my personal campfiremolten contact raised above its brow,a knock at freedom friend foyer fishing frantic static and rushbeneath the falling billowed foot on the vessel eyehangerhall knots lured from berber beds to displace elbows in hatsand cushion skirting knuckles held alternating for certainty.mandatory optionsonly a painted cel of a cartoon animaldithers to gruel and cheekbitten chatterpicking the taste of sadness’ sweet burrs from its tonguei’m not sick anymore, yet:‘a million miles away’ crouches around a fireor stone overbite correction.circle in squares,smokestack newsprint nails daddy longlegsrising from klodhopper corduroybut bubbled under thumbs as while greenhouse hair.vegetable bagged safety and mouse mug,earwigs lighting apartments on fireand nepotism ignites onion dome maceunder tightened cheekbones.Pale yellow daydrunk,coins flipping on pools of ink in glistening velvetand a gaze like planks resting on the horizon,summer’s empty churches and thechicken trucks cut the sleeping townUnaligned features, waterlife,pinched peach pie crust bulb thinning wet fingertips and puppet armsin matte foil green hallway in the thicket behind my left yearcommittee seatbelt caught out the doorred picnic tablesA calculator with word buttons or amphibian air quotessharing the same dim torso and mosaictattooed sunken face* * *‘You know, these people are nice, but they’re just very...’boxcarred as long vowels inking handout jacket holeswith the flick of one smoky hand and my mosscovered back turned.Pace four hundred metre rain floating coy greenblack attack mothto orange snapshots channel swap as perpetual draftover a couple teens singing soundless in the wind,one hand firm along the dark church walls.Obsolete in an endless compound gym,and leaving through the trophy case into that same green hall,where magnetic monoliths hovered warily in blowout sunlight,suddenly spinning and aligning to hug a ghostin the black endlessness of saturday morning.it spreads out on the table like a pointed cliff:greybeard and left row window dimming,vocab by erasure.Mall a mill churning dust as an endless subway sighstretched across the pathless winter fields,new years’ bleak and songchoke striped,frozen knees planted in nighta blind tree surgeon printing rust in the sheetsa full beige stalled ocean chalked on the hopscotchapart thanks to variable windspeed static combtugging the pebble past block letters and january deathto fall unsolved but openwith thin three by fives halted herring crusted under inkjetsunreal and unmoving in their cushion.Caught tender beyond breathing the shapeless ellipsismy topteeth pointthe way the tide is inscribed behind my forehead andland warm woven in my own theatre,nudging balance bundle as true night begins,and an internet ice age moves behind usto lock down the debris,and first snow’s sanded grey sawdust of remainder driftwoodframes the road as a black-and-white photographhidden under the floorboards* * *Stationaryengines runningblack lungs stale,nowhere but sideways to go.past this point nothing grows.You awake uncertain in your carsurrounded by millions in carsthickset on every sidea single cell in a sheet of sealed silver bricks,all jammed handle to handleto the hem of the skyIt’s harder bridginga lot so tightly parkedfew can hope to departand consolidate a map of the marks of livingthreading these aging tarps,extending arms in the darkto wear silence like a winter coatbut written in the breathof some faraway windowsare rumors of a liquid thatdissolves upholstery and metal like sugarif you only could see itand flood the floorand lose your spotto find the edgesin all that you’re functioning throughTreeline dawningSquare
