1. |
Our Sweet Guts
04:47
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My white summer dress
Was wet with wine or blood
But we couldn’t tell which one
There in the dark
And the words we sang
Were too stained in wine or blood
We were spilling our sweet guts
Out on the lawn
The summer that we spent sneaking
Into city pools, your back was
Warm on the underwater light
And I was warm in your inner thigh
And the surf capital of the world
Was where ever we laid our little heads
So pretty and clever in fact
We could freestyle with anything they threw at us
Here we go
I’ve been listening to Om Supreme
I’ve been thinking of Thriller
Finding a weird poetry in between em
In the back yard alone
And how our faces are bones
The grand hoax of an echo is
It makes you think
Things find their way back to you.
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2. |
Surferer
05:48
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In seer suckers among the cypress trees
We are sinking our canteens
Into this dark and giving stream
In late July
And if god should throw us a curve
We send that ball onto a Cuban shore
Where radios play Afro-Cuban songs
And our eight hearts are beating all as one
Surferer so good
Surferer than you
Surferer than him
Fuck art, lets swim
In this overflowing Fountain of Youth
Of you
You can tell by the salt on the breeze
Oh, that we’re coming upon
The last of the Florida Keys
Must be a better island beyond
We can tell by the seagull’s song
Oh, that we’re drawing near
To the end of the Florida Keys
Let’s see that our story begins here
I can’t get no satisfaction
Well you can’t always get what you want
If you want true satisfaction
Must free yourself of your wants
So I’m fine with never having satisfaction
Cuz all that I’m fueled by are my wants
So what you want?
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3. |
Red Wine & Coca-Cola
05:25
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God our bodies grew so gorgeous
Stretched across the blue
Bedsheets of Bloomington
Are knotted at their ends by you
And among the broken wineglasses of dawn
You have slid them out the window
Bedsheets of Bloomington
Are sleepless ghosts
Without the cutout eyeholes
We put coca-cola in the wine
So we can barely taste the blood
It’s a spooky tricky lie
That you can only be young once
Cuz I get younger every night
It will allow no winding down
This awful August lion pride
The only way to go is out
God your body looks enormous
Stretched out across your tomb
The Bedsheets of Bloomington
Are the shroud that they lay
Soft upon you now
Will they fire off their guns at dawn
Or will you leave a widow?
The Bedsheets of Bloomington
Are sleepless ghosts
Without the cutout eyeholes
Oooh, shamone, swimming in september
Oooh, shamone, we’re such good forgetters
Oooh, shamone, swimming in september
Oooh, shamone, les enfants terrible
And no news is good news
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4. |
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B C N C Charlotte, North Carolina
hotdoggin & peacockin
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