what're you doing with those faces
I don't even want to talk about it
our bed fare has gotten exciting
it's interesting they say it takes a village
but Sunday it'll have taken just a year

the landslide is down to its knees
I don't want it to leave I don't write letters anymore
this city is cold now and it's time to go
when will I catch a break or even just a drift
the coastline is calling, the water is coming after me

from your elbows I draw strings to the back of your arms
little spiderwebs and chills to the top of your back
I can climb highways and descend from the stars
but I don't drink deserts and I certainly don't write letters anymore

she's a cocktail of pride, stirring anger and envy into a crowd
avoid her like a power line downed on the ground
dropping off bed linens covered with blood
I know where the going gets going and knowing implodes
inside the brain and sweats off the brow
there are only so many shapes we can try to ignore
can I just show you pictures of when you were happy before