los campesinos meets fly art

Each of eight fingers gripping what he wrote, clung on tightly, like parenthesis

And then we’ll maybe drown in Dewey decimals / But leave our shoes outside the door ‘cause that was the point

We’re feeling so much more content knowing where our allegiances lie.

Here’s a confession. I mis-hear this song lyrics every time. So before you ask, I do know that the lyric is “the story of the winter i forgot how to speak / my mind was like a nation’s flag, but my breeze was too weak” but I couldn’t help myself and I made this how I hear it. I would change it right now if I could, but all of these have to be made in advance because my laptop can’t actually make them and I have to steal one off my friend. Sorry about that!

I’ll bind you and gag you and all’s well that ends, I suppose

and if you want a list of all her favorite bits / the next time i am free quite comprehensively / i will scrawl them all down for you as an apology

There was more life in the weeds than in the few hundred seats

We all know we’re gonna die / We’re a speck of dust in a bad god’s eye

I have known friends to crack from love’s weight / Blossom in ribcage, until their backs break

Piled up with the cotton buds, among the toothpicks, inside the dark of the dustbin

Wake up, I’ll tell you everything honestly: / “Hirwain, Minny, Tewkesbury, or Brook Street / What I’d not give just to have another week”

Each of eight fingers gripping what he wrote, clung on tightly, like parenthesis