My love and I spend our nights swimming in sweat
And with other jealous lovers, we act out the fire theft
The soil keeps on shifting in the landscapes of our souls
But to keep the passion blazing, we need to dig for coal
There’s two small legs a’-movin’, in some distant home
And despite all my caring, I feel the need to roam
The state’s adept at snaring, so ensnared will I be
I’ll settle for a wary service to the Factorie
My love and I spend our nights tracing our regrets
Over folds of skin and skinny wrists, broke bones that haven’t set
There’s stains on the mattress, and mosquitos in the breeze
While we dream to do disservice to the Factorie
There’s two feelings a-fleeing rationality
A passion for stealing, and hate for the city
I’m caught up as a cog, I’ll follow like a lamb
Wait up nights awaiting the bursting of the dam
Drinking a beer before you get out of bed. Never showering. Waking up with strange marks and hating the State. Is there hope? Probably not. But there's definitely more beer and endless libido. THIS MOUTH IS AN ASHTRAY
More anarcho-pessimistic bummerfolk from a well-traveled and hella-genuine friend. Situates loss and addiction within a larger picture of systemic bummer and oppression. THIS MOUTH IS AN ASHTRAY
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