Baptism (Friday) Lyrics & Tabs by Decomposure
Baptism (Friday)
guitar chords lyrics
a step in the sand, cut to quick, the air bitter and shrunk. from resolve to bills, a starkstill golden profile smokes by flat glare. brittle bare branches swipe silence in freezeframe, only hairlight and breath flinch. grown in the mirror, a continual flat expanse. a skunk on a, tiny creatures with wide eyes offscreen in the foley room or posed in silhouette and no flashlight. the forest in photocopy, its grey tail snaking and stiff, dreaming whatever woods dream. my hands go white. breathing pillows for curse, these dark skinny fires forked into the soft sparkling black above while anemic reflections suck hard against the green, its new north. you bow and snort water in the reverb of your trite childhood capsule and know the cold fluid cupped in your chest feeding the cloud intravenously shallows by rent and rain to waste wet and drink my own urine, shunning milk and egg. all is hours to a clock or a timebomb, recognizable shapes to a developed eye; a tail: bone and gut wrapped in fur, wag decoded and split into its constituent parts, and oh so wait... cataloguing every caress of shadow against the wall, shoulderchecking, selecting the rarest foam to warm your pale cheeks against, waiting for a ride and a moonrise with a pile of equipment. there will be no bailout for a collapsed lung on lined paper; a creaking door fast closing a foot wider. you could spend your sleep crawling for classmates and lost songs and plunging your teeth into said lung. instead run to herbalone crystals and shun the snow leopard’s tail; the hail shatters the tap clamping your backstory shut by office supply, to set and beget and reset dry toes and hunched spine in the dust before shore, though the seas scab back and stagger in the fog of war to the lighthouse. meanwhile, huddled in spreadsheet riddled dream, ears back and curl, a new moon is patterned and pearl. from spit a swirl, stitched in nebulae, a charon in chyron under each utterance, burning fat in our mouths, cutting time to eras like carrots and old baseball caps left on the train.
my ears smell like honey.
don’t put me down,
i’ll be good from now on.
scattered like dance club flyers
along the walk
beside an empty parking lot.
