let's sling our rain slicks over February's fantastic antlers
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sprouting from the foreheads of world famous necromancers.
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the winter's looming like a bloodthirsty bird of prey.
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and i guarantee by spring we'll either be world famous or goddamned dead.
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guitar one fastens languid years to busty bones like dust and skin on a dull antique moon.
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guitar two's touch keeps ruining lovers for other lovers
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like jokers concealed in trick decks in our laps.
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there's a train tumbling down torn paper tracks while weeds blossom from heartbeats that lack.
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guitar three's dancing even though her song stopped playing ages and ages ago.
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she's at an empty dance club suspended in the middle of a rambling sentence.
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guitar four says, "if you still believe in the grace of man,
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let me introduce you to greedy greedy hands."
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let's sling our rain slicks over every single second
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to the rapture dripping from clocks ticking all our misadventures.
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the winter left town with some seventeen-year-old waitress.
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and spring's laying in a pile of all the moments of our misadventures.
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1,2,3,4 Guitars
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| The Blood Brothers |
