Hour 11 Lyrics & Tabs by Decomposure
Hour 11
guitar chords lyrics
Walking hatched ribs set on an airport conveyor belt
with dead oystergrey birds cupped within each meatbelted basin,
songs disconnected from first blink
and strewn across the pale corn wandering for food to breathe,
each furnished with a screwdriver to pry open his stubborn epiglottis
and ring a corresponding egg cup’s careful palm
with marble shells blooming a kindled swallow
and survey with fleshrimmed glasses
the aquarium’s domino current through starspun exposure,
future noise and present accordion swung girders’ tomorrowpractice.
gelpunched and perched even with the blinds drawn
It’s not defense if you’re holding the ball.
that sticker’s not an iceberg, it’s the hilt of a sword
Crawl white pawns in dirty shadow while the grid is quicksand blonde
to spit their shells earthspoken for the rain’s fading glow
that sticker’s not an iceberg, it’s the hilt of a sword
Crawl white pawns in dirty shadow while the grid is quicksand blonde
to spit their shells earthspoken for the rain’s fading glow
diverted from the dry meniscus tide grass’ edged in the dark hollow cavities
moaning stream through the creamy extruded lathe wallet presets
linked 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 butterknife
your shackled shadow sold from your coal and backpracticed thumbs
ripping a rictus wide open the distance between real and realistic so
birds eat onions.
Turn hearts into attacks
and a cross into crosshairs
principles, not polls.
she kit mobile behind bat seamstress manor
upsetting a truckful of nails around my personal campfire
molten contact raised above its brow,
a knock at freedom friend foyer fishing frantic static and rush
beneath the falling billowed foot on the vessel eyehanger
hall knots lured from berber beds to displace elbows in hats
and cushion skirting knuckles held alternating for certainty.
mandatory options
only a painted cel of a cartoon animal
dithers to gruel and cheekbitten chatter
picking the taste of sadness’ sweet burrs from its tongue
i’m not sick anymore, yet:
‘a million miles away’ crouches around a fire
or stone overbite correction.
circle in squares,
smokestack newsprint nails daddy longlegs
rising from klodhopper corduroy
but bubbled under thumbs as while greenhouse hair.
vegetable bagged safety and mouse mug,
earwigs lighting apartments on fire
and nepotism ignites onion dome mace
under tightened cheekbones.
Pale yellow daydrunk,
coins flipping on pools of ink in glistening velvet
and a gaze like planks resting on the horizon,
summer’s empty churches and the
chicken trucks cut the sleeping town
Unaligned features, waterlife,
pinched peach pie crust bulb thinning wet fingertips and puppet arms
in matte foil green hallway in the thicket behind my left year
committee seatbelt caught out the door
red picnic tables
A calculator with word buttons or amphibian air quotes
sharing 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 holes
with the flick of one smoky hand and my mosscovered back turned.
Pace four hundred metre rain floating coy greenblack attack moth
to orange snapshots channel swap as perpetual draft
over 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 ghost
in 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 sigh
stretched across the pathless winter fields,
new years’ bleak and songchoke striped,
frozen knees planted in night
a blind tree surgeon printing rust in the sheets
a full beige stalled ocean chalked on the hopscotch
apart thanks to variable windspeed static comb
tugging the pebble past block letters and january death
to fall unsolved but open
with thin three by fives halted herring crusted under inkjets
unreal and unmoving in their cushion.
Caught tender beyond breathing the shapeless ellipsis
my topteeth point
the way the tide is inscribed behind my forehead and
land warm woven in my own theatre,
nudging balance bundle as true night begins,
and an internet ice age moves behind us
to lock down the debris,
and first snow’s sanded grey sawdust of remainder driftwood
frames the road as a black-and-white photograph
hidden under the floorboards
Stationary
engines running
black lungs stale,
nowhere but sideways to go.
past this point nothing grows.
You awake uncertain in your car
surrounded by millions in cars
thickset on every side
a single cell in a sheet of sealed silver bricks,
all jammed handle to handle
to the hem of the sky
It’s harder bridging
a lot so tightly parked
few can hope to depart
and consolidate a map of the marks of living
threading these aging tarps,
extending arms in the dark
to wear silence like a winter coat
but written in the breath
of some faraway windows
are rumors of a liquid that
dissolves upholstery and metal like sugar
if you only could see it
and flood the floor
and lose your spot
to find the edges
in all that you’re functioning through
Treeline dawning
Square
