Dépouille

Marks

From the top of a building in Manhattan,
I look down only to see my reflection
and the city doused in burning snow.

Felt compelled like a magnet
to lose my reason,
to give myself up to my demons.
Being scared of existence,
being scared of those bridges,
all I know is that those demons
are ebbing from my skin.

From one thousand miles away
you put your hand on my shoulder through the
telephone waves.
I felt better, I did not feel afraid.
You kept my demons away,
away.

We melt into each others skin,
becoming art, wax and zen,
animals trying so goddamn hard
not to be animals.

As I taste your insides,
all I taste is snake oil.

My demons,
my demons,
my demons tear,
My demons leave their marks.
My demons leave their marks
My demons leave their marks.

 

 

Heartbeat Radio

What do you think about this song?
Like the air above a fire,
shimmering along the coast
of the Sargasso sea,
except there's not much of a coast
at all.

And you always thought
that I was wrong,
turns out I was all along.

But neither you nor I ever could ever see
the bustling city beneath me,
which spread far beneath the trees.

Far along the radio waves,
you whisper to me
"don't go, please stay"
Open blinds and burn the curtains,
lord knows that we're uncertain.

So we stay till the end of all the shows,
the crowd has left,
the credits have rolled,
trying to find something
long gone and, old,
it's hidden and gone
for all we know.

Or we'll find it like gravity once did,
before we'll lose it like god once did.
In our heartbeat radios,
it's in our heartbeat radios.