Bloody cartographic sex-scenes preempting reality, returning to your regularly scheduled programming.
Blistered forests, melting trees, reborn by catastrophic heat as we proceed to set the atmosphere aflame.
Maybe I'm losing touch with who I used to be, so let's follow this paper trail and see just where it leads.
Let's blow apart the shackles of skin that corrupt us and imprison us in readily apparently similar lines of poetry that we can awesomely refer to as living, if it were actually awesome, which it isn't.
Maybe I'm losing touch with who I used to be, so let's follow this paper trail and see just where it leads. Notebooks full of bad poetry, a series of sentences that captures the moment perfectly, il luoghi del potere, coughing up blood in the 19th century, obscurity is easy, but clarity is killing me.
Track Name: A Lonely Christmas For Coco Hayley Gordon Moore
Indie rock mom & dad are splitting up, so I guess there's no more room for love.
Ancient iconography that doesn't mean shit to me; joint custody of our shared biographies.
Counter-intuitive biological processes, multiple orgasms, discreet muscle spasms,
It's evolutionary my dear Watson,
Won't someone please think of the children?
Nobody really knows what they're doing.
Flashback, 2007: effervescence, phosphorescence.
Indie rock moms & dads are getting divorced every day of course, of course, every day off course, of course.
I'm still queen of the castle, so I guess that makes me the asshole, and now that's never gonna change.