This is a story, some kind of a story
|
this is a story about about a boy and girl,
|
a girl and a boy, a boy.
|
|
[?] only fighting.
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that some boy in the dark while he learned to evolve
|
inverted crystal mountain kind of a story.
|
|
this is a story
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man, about the serifs and ciphers that the scholars deciphered
|
translations of sanskrit
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just as my handwritten story.
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this is a story
|
|
where the singers begin to appear
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in the spaces between all the dashes and braces
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in the mothbitten story - of getting left behind.
|
this is a story
|
|
some kind of a story.
|
|
with the pages distressed sins you held to your chest,
|
they were mangled and dog eared, while the rest were just mangy and gory.
|
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this is a story about the memory of water
|
translating the sound of the traffic.
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remember the traffic?
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it's making you carsick all along southfield freeway.
|
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and translating mistakes and the trees were mistaken
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and the trees for the woods and the sound of the trash
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for the sound of the blowing leaves along the southfield freeway.
|
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my name is a blackbird, this is a two tone.
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feathers are warm in molasses,
|
twisting the words from the solids to gases.
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now I don't have worry (of making it)
|
it's so unclear.
|
|
am I dead or am I dying
|
or am I simply tired of crying?
|
|
my name is a blackbird, this is a two tone.
|
feathers are warm in molasses,
|
twisting the words from the solids to gases.
|
now I don't have worry (of making it)
|
it's so unclear.
|
|
am I dead or am I dying
|
or am I simply tired of crying?
|
|
my name is a blackbird.
|
|
-----------------
|
The Trees Were Mistaken
|
| Andrew Bird |
