In lakesh, Ill hold my breath til Im blue Until the next time I see you Im recording the vocals in my underwear Your shit sounds like you recorded in a hoodie on a hot day With a fuckin ball cap, tilted to cover your right eye Your shit is fake, youre play acting This aint drama class Its unhealthy, its only boosting your bipolarity Until the handkerchief of history Covers us with its Times New Roman blackandwhite postscript I will wear lavender shirts in yellow painted public restrooms Looking like Art Deco in my September complexion and Red against blue skies and have those pictures taken To be proof against the dull mood of your high school history teacher That we wore color That we distributed the seeds of dead dandelions In cementsurrounded city parks That we let our skin soak up the sun Despite the advice of modern science That we sometimes wore our hair long And let it curl and never combed it or put it in braids That we taught ourselves to play the pots and pans So that we would have something honest to dance to Something soulful to sing to And sometimes we had trouble seeing past our own reflections in the bedroom window Because it was dark outside And the fluorescents inside left shadows under our chests And sculpted the torso to look its Friday night fittest Yeah, Im vain There was life here before there wasnt And before that there wasnt But seagulls still ate shallow water fish Morning boys still cast tall shadows And all the while the stars are slowly separating Elizabeth, I dont know what you expect I just wanna hide my face In the space between your breasts In lakesh, Ive got no heart pumpin my chest Ill have to leave me praying In the cradle of your flesh Elizabeth, I dont know what you expect I just want to leave my breath And get between your legs In lakesh try and leave me again Ill say Hello Youll say... And end will be end Okay These are songs to be listened to after Im dead dead dead dead When old women start wearing their hair grey These are songs to help an ant find its shadow Songs to bump in your Beam Cruiser 2060 Top down, hair blowing in the absence of air Whooming to the shhhhhh
lakesh, elizabeth, dead, hair, wore