Sunday, January 17, 2010


i work on my feet all day
i've got all of your records, ok
this love-drunk summer season makes me feel sane
you're spread out all over manhattan
worn weathered and written in latin
where your head hangs, under awnings, it always rains
i've got, i wear your defaults like a stain
strange, urbane mythology
melancholy crept over me
i can't you, i can't help myself
play house, play domestic strife
8 hours, 2nd floor life
i can't help everyone, i can't help myself
i've got, your closed-mouth trick remains
if you wanna take me
we'll cut off all this mess
if you wanna take me
i would surely go
we work on our feet all day
we've got every record ever written, ok
your midnight prolific monologues make me feel sane
we're separated by ego and denial
but i'll stay here with you for a while
while you overcome me under awnings, it always rains

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