Crowd stale, wholesale.
We're on the porch and there's a keg and you are quiet.
Wind shifts, I drift
To autumn. I tell dom what I see.
She laughs at me.
We're on the porch and there's a keg and you are quiet.
Wind shifts, I drift
To autumn. I tell dom what I see.
She laughs at me.
Blast beat, we retreat.
And it's a lonely street, the burden of circumvention,
But fractions, like us,
Fill cities and flats and cul-de-sacs.
So we yell over it and have a laugh.
And it's a laughable scenario,
Peripheral motion picture show.
And I feel your eyes, and I stayed inside,
But it wouldn't work so I soak up your vice.
Tonight's a blur.
We meet.
You scare me.
See, I have met people from maine and athens, georgia and montreal.
And I'm dead, lips red,
Licking sugar, I smile at everyone.
Formulated fun.
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Ivy Tripp
American Weekend
Cerulean Salt
Out In The Storm