Tip of tongue to open sore, on painted lips, my pain is yours
And it feels like I'm being born, through the same stoma, escaped the soul
The stigmas such that I'm not sure, if I'll lose my mind before you yours
The enigma's all that's left of us, who'd have thought, I am awed
I am awed
I am so awed
I am yours
I am all yours
You can be forever committed to bottling a spark
But it's like trying to untangle headphones in the dark
Desperately remoulding ideas until they're a familiar shape
Held together with Hammerite and Gaffer tape
At the end of the year you'll either stitch up the seams
Or you'll be buried by the weight of your dreams
If you can't remove the stone from your shoe before you're had by the hearse
The subtle difference between a hex and curse
Fear the worst
Because nowadays everything is a fine line
between diving off the deep end and falling with style
A sky high rise nose dive each day that you're alive
Tethered to a fire hose like McClane, driven by Argyle
You can re-enter reality by smashing back through the glass
Or continue to fall with the weight of your mass
A few final seconds of a spinning scene to survey
Alternating blue green and grey
Yippey-ki-ay
Emotionally stirring avant-techno from Surgeons Girl, offering a field of percolating analog synths to get lost in. Bandcamp New & Notable Oct 18, 2022
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