du gjorde mig til en
raffineret
udgave af det, jeg
lovede mig selv
aldrig at skulle være
satte hele tiden kaffe
over i et unøjagtigt
forsøg på at få tiden
til at gå lidt hurtigere
følte mig som en stum
skulptur, der blev
betragtet med nøgne
øjne og målt med blege
fingerspidser
af mennesker,
der aldrig sagde
deres navn
eller noget andet
ville ønske, du ville
erstatte mig og bare
se den anden vej

Start.  Tripp-ing your
sneak-ers on black-brown
alley corr-i-dors fast
you’re stum-bl-ing boy
and you gotta go fast
Go. Go. Go. breathe.
glance your hip o-ver
that dump-ster on the cor-ner
and keep go-ing.
bare-ly touch the grime
boy, bare-ly be fly-ing.
Shut down.  don’t ev-en
listen, be-cause if you
hear ‘em you are gone
you don’t ev-en gotta
see a thing go by. go boy.
but then you did-n’t see
that blank-****** cat
and you’re stum-bl-ing
flat on your fore-head
and cutt-ing across the buzz.
you hear that horn honk-ing.

You looked at me
I saw your stare
The cold
                uninviting
                                     stressing
stare.
The one that kept me up at night,
shaking from fright.

You said you weren't sorry for what you said last night.
And that you meant it all.
Oh my.
What spite.

A shimmer in my eyes.
That's all it took to change my life forever.

No longer was I your slave.
I didn't follow you around
with my mouth open
drooling.
No more.

I wouldn't...
I couldn't...

That's what we all say,
until we do.
And that's when the scary begins all over again.
When you fall in to the same trap,
Over
         and
                  over
again.
Once the cycle has begun, there is no leaving
from one's stum.
For your stum is your home.
And your home is your cycle.

Lamps that light with lingering flames
quench dreary eyes of midnight pain;
hin'dring such precarious Names,
who've come to find they sinned in vain.

The Baker appeared, and took hold his stake
for the Name who tried to steal the Baker's bread.
Poor stum'bling Name was stopped in cold regret.
Staunch whiskey perspiring upon His head,
He ponders all the threats the Baker'd make;

turned and sprinted against the wall
of wheat and grass and trees and all,
but brazen hands, fire-scathed, wed
His life, ironically, to the art of baking bread.

He wanted a ***** enlarger

gave him a magnifying glass

I said “where’s the food go”

he replied “look at your ***”

He likes to call me his experience

what he calls all his mistakes

I call him my grievance

my heart he constantly breaks

When he yawns he gets to open his mouth

otherwise he tends to keep stum when I’m about

he lives poor, so he can die rich

calls me an overspending *****

Were no longer love’s young dream

when I see him I want to scream

I **** his ills with pills

his money pays his funeral bills

hvis jeg engang glemmer, hvordan luften dufter om efteråret, hvordan sand føles mellem mine tæer eller hvordan en hånd på min kind skaber ro i mit sind, så fortæl mig det hele. fortæl mig hvordan jeg plejede at tale om alt, hvad jeg synes er så fantastisk og hvad jeg tænker, når hele min krop er træt og jeg kun kan hviske mine ord. fortæl mig hvordan vi lå i timevis med mine ben over dine og mine læber på din nakke, hvordan ordene "jeg elsker dig" aldrig blev slidte på vores tunger, hvordan jeg altid talte om eventyr udenfor og du altid ville grine af mig og ryste på hovedet fordi du vidste at jeg i virkeligheden hellere ville ligge i vores utallige dyner i utallige timer, som var hver dag en søndag. fortæl mig hvordan jeg altid druknede i dine øjne og blev stum i hele minutter, og hvordan jeg ville tale i søvne om alle de ting jeg aldrig siger, selvom jeg slet ikke behøver fordi du allerede ved det. fortæl mig hvordan min hånd passede så perfekt i din, at alle klichéer om den eneste ene blev til virkelighed hver gang din hånd fandt vej til min. fortæl mig hvordan vi kunne grine til vores øjne løb i vand og vores maver var ømme, og hvordan vi kunne falde i søvn i hinandens omfavnelser fordi trygheden gjorde os søvnige. fortæl mig om alle de syndige øjeblikke vi har delt, og hvordan vores kroppe smelter sammen, når lyset er slukket. fortæl mig hvordan jeg aldrig kunne undvære dig og hvordan det aldrig var smertefrit at forlade dig, når du stod i mine natbukser og med uglede krøller. fortæl mig især hvordan vores læber var bløde og om alle vores lange kys, der aldrig skulle være endt. fortæl mig hvordan resten af verden altid var så ligegyldig, når bare vi havde hinanden. fortæl mig at du elsker mig, og at du aldrig vil gå. så kan jeg huske igen

We left footsteps on the moon together
An imprint of our souls
Stamped in immovable ink

But our walk was short lived
Because you got tired of stumbling
Stum - bi - ling
Over the pebbles
That blocked our steps

I tried to remind you
That every step we took
Was history
But history meant
Less
          and
                   less
The more there was to look back upon

It wasn't enough anymore
So you ran
Before we could continue walking together
And new craters consumed you
Before I could catch up

When you were long buried
I tried to collect the essence of our prints
But the moment I touched them
They unraveled to dust
Erasing what should have remained
Forever

So each time I reached
Each time I grasped for us
Our history became
Less
          and
                   less
Until there was nothing left to look back upon

Not like you would have turned around anyway
Because you were too busy
Creating new craters
With new others
To see the pieces of soul we left behind

Maybe it meant nothing to you
But I still keep a handful of dust
In the bottom of my pocket
To remind me of the way
We left footsteps on the moon together
Footsteps that vanished
Into nothing but dry particles

Dust
For someone else to walk on.

jeg har lyst til at fortælle dig hvilken idiot du er. spørge dig, hvad du havde tænkt dig. høre din forklaring, undskyldning, høre dig sige undskyld, men du ville ikke lytte ligeså selv som jeg. jeg ved ikke, hvordan det kan være at vi har så svært ved at forstå hinanden selvom vi taler det samme sprog. ingen af os taler i koder, men intet går ind. vi folder vores ører sammen med vores hænder hver gang vi åbner munden. jeg har været døv så længe nu at jeg er blevet stum. åbner ikke engang min mund for at tale til dig.

****** knuckles
     From drunken stumbles
                                    That took his pie
         He had named humble
Ready to rumble
                                                                              Were the words he mumbled
                    In a fit and fumble
                                       To find his                               *mind

                                                                                                                                                   More than buzzed
He had become bumbled
                                                                             Just one more shot
Until he
stum    bled
                                   Out the doorway c r u m b l e d

Few ones in his pocket crumpled
      Left from cans funneled
                             I   mpairing cortexes pre                     frontaled
                                                                                                                 Visiontunneled and memory black
He laid down in the street
                                                                            *For an eternity of nap

as i sit here tonight
and stum on my guitar
my heart dose bleed
for the music i hear
how can i live now
for my sweet jane
for today jane was
nothing else than a pain
demanding
make sure this right
and do not do that again

Oww Jane
that is not right
please do not do that
Again.

The package dropped
The message sent
3 2 1
Beginning our descent
He spoke
He spoke
I wrote
I smoke
This is the fear that blacks out my eyes
There's fear in my heart
There's no use for disguise
I'm tumbling
Fumbling
Stum
            b
                   l
                 i
                           n
                   g


Now that he knows
**He knows