Sep 2018
I’m jumping at shadows
Again and the night is closing in
With the kind of violence
Only a mother could know
Right and it’s like back in ‘06 when grandpa stomped the gas down on a ‘69 Camaro and he drove straight up into the sky and that’s why sometimes when thunder claps I mistake it for the chorus of a Bruce Springsteen song and that’s why I keep my read receipts on when I talk to the dead cause you really don’t ever know when heaven is gonna open up to you right? And who could ever know us better than the ghosts we choose to carry? What can living hands uncover about us that we don’t already know? So yeah I guess what I’m trying to say is sometimes it’s more comfortable to live inside the act of disappearing rather than being gone, or maybe that I’m a shallow grave and there ain’t enough bodies to fill it, or maybe sometimes a name can’t hold all the feeling in it so you gotta become something else, intangible and everpresent, I’m still working it out, mostly filling space and such, I wouldn’t know how to explain it to you if I could speak my own language, the clouds hang heavy like hearses on summer asphalt, September a phantom fire that spread all through these veins, I’m listening for thunder, a transmission from heaven that says it’s time to come home
Again and the night is closing in
With the kind of violence
Only a mother could know
Right and it’s like back in ‘06 when grandpa stomped the gas down on a ‘69 Camaro and he drove straight up into the sky and that’s why sometimes when thunder claps I mistake it for the chorus of a Bruce Springsteen song and that’s why I keep my read receipts on when I talk to the dead cause you really don’t ever know when heaven is gonna open up to you right? And who could ever know us better than the ghosts we choose to carry? What can living hands uncover about us that we don’t already know? So yeah I guess what I’m trying to say is sometimes it’s more comfortable to live inside the act of disappearing rather than being gone, or maybe that I’m a shallow grave and there ain’t enough bodies to fill it, or maybe sometimes a name can’t hold all the feeling in it so you gotta become something else, intangible and everpresent, I’m still working it out, mostly filling space and such, I wouldn’t know how to explain it to you if I could speak my own language, the clouds hang heavy like hearses on summer asphalt, September a phantom fire that spread all through these veins, I’m listening for thunder, a transmission from heaven that says it’s time to come home
