Ghost with a grin
outside a skin house.
Set in the middle of a 40-acre marsh.
Wrapped in moisture.
Growing, living things
all around the dead arms,
dead arms of spring.
It was my stab at faith.
A losing one.
Derailing any one had in the first place.
You took my hand and threw me in the
grave grave grave grave yeah.
Now hold your throat.
The air's a little worse than last week.
It's a little bit warmer than last week.
Is it really like you weren't informed?
You're enlightened now.
It makes no difference anyway
We're all on the same list of names.
Black tar running from your mouth.
Engine exhaust smoking out your ears.
Yellow nails and hair like
twine twine twine twine.
Slow fuel on your side.
Sharp tip.
Running water black as night.
I'm not sure if you are really that informed.
You're like a small bird needing to be fed.
It's probably something you won't take well.
Loosening every state.
Trying to rearrange the way I want it to look.
Take some out altogether.
Move a few even closer together and sing along.
It's the death rattle hymn for a place removed from inside.
It's for the party of sins which always wins a place down below.
Car balanced on an old wooden chair.
Legs barely hanging on.
I'll be there.
We will eat you from the inside.
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