dead drugs
vanishing, vanishing...
maybe i'm half a life & half a dentil concierge.
transplant yer storms & bury yer hair in a box behind the neighborhood.
organs aren't jst fer fucked up bodies.
stab out myself in the most selfish part.
deathly suited traditions will leak scalpels off rioting birds...
erratic surgeons, transplant skingraftical illusions
tentative tentacles, resentful in beauty
stitch a photograph of a chewed up coma
to a vanishing pact...
dead drugs. dead drugs. dead drugs. dead drugs.
working from the waste up to push the face into the back of the skull.
s-s-s-some surgeons,
g-g-g-grow feathres,
where the scalpel should go, where the scalpel should go, where the scalpel should...
dead drugs ruin the view
graffiti lips on a smear campaign
wild crawl into vogue suffocational breath
where do rats go to read about riots?...
v-v-v-vanishing pact,
g-g-g-graffiti lips,
where the rats at? wear the riot acts? where the rats?...
hypochondriacs
trapped underneath swan birth lake,
consoled by leaking head wounds w tongues chipping ovre their teeth
staple opinionated pelican beaks & pink watre to gulls
& a head-dressed evolving amateur skull.
reunion of the surgeons, in a bleached black ambulance.
jealous wounds tear at vanishing accidents, involved in botched skingrafts. indoors outside traffic still sounds the same. today refers to tonight w a nod towards tomorrow in future flaws w anchors delaying chipped off piss stained dove flesh f/leathre between the beds made yesterday. darling, we're targets from birth. surgeon, you cracked the patient skull, twice... one minute ago.
(finalized lyrics fer "dead drugs" which will on our new 12" out soon on end theory records. word war, lv jsh & this runs on blood)