struck out around the block
the letting-you-back-in phase has begun
about to hit the corner here on my own
pluche tears, a crochet bag
I put the beach inside of it
you’re staring yourself back to me
phone call in the orchard
mom knows best she understands
don’t ask, don’t ask
'bout to hit the corner here on my own
in leaving the spoken world
repellent to a single sunny word
that breaks the waiting spell
the orange light opens us
we push the stone and in our bones
so much is only growing pains
and we’re sold out
it’s the last time that I’m here
I don’t sell indifference to these needs
so I greet the empty parts again
I’ll clear the room so I can be my own friend
when you’re sober
I can’t feel you anymore
I tried to write some words on your shoulders
so I won’t give in
guess I’m the only mourner
only mourner
here skin on skin
