in a blue room
with a white door
I sit on my feet
and I stare at the floor
and I brush my teeth
I wish I could read
I wish I had one single cd
I'll have to make up my own songs
Make them up as I go along
sing them all day long
make them up as I go singing
"what the fuck do you know about any of this?"
I'm attracted to the bar
so i kiss my bottle
then lean into the lender
to talk about a serial killer
and what he'd done
can you imagine?
even one of the things that he'd done?
now there's bags in my eyes
and I have crows at my feet
after twelve long years
I'm admitting defeat
I got bags in my eyes
and i crow at my feet
add another fifteen years
all of this is complete
Very Machine bridges the idiosyncrasies of Yowie with those of Tangled Thoughts of Leaving in a brand new packaging.
Full review: https://wp.me/p3mIfa-nIH Can This Even Be Called Music?