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Fog In The House Of Lightbulbs

Radical Face

The Junkyard Chandelier


The cross in the middle of the room
but the ghost who sleeps in the kitchen sink
and the one who shines my shoes
all put the money in a bag
and left the house before the blizzards came

the summer's got his teeth in me again
but my bones are sweating and my clothes are gone
and I can't get enough to drink
so now the place to be
is where the moonlight never blinks
and I'd love to explain
but truth be told I'm not sure what to think
so now I'm going to bed

I woke up with my head stuffed full of fog
beyond it out into the livingroom
until I couldn't see the floors or walls
and as the sun cut through I finally found a place to lay
the skeleton in my closet left his home
now he sits up on the rooftop
and shouts my secrets with a megaphone
and as the shit hit the fan
I packed my bags and caught the train
and I'd like to point the finger
but there's no one left to blame
now there's nothing left to protect me from the rain
and it's really coming down

it's the thought that burns you out
it's the hook that drags you under
and it's the grin that rats you out
it's a snowstorm in the summer
it's the sky that spoils the cloud
it's the burn marks on your mother
and it's the thought that burns you out
it's the hook that drags you under and so on

boring and twisting... a moth stuck in the ground
has made a house of your lightbulbs
mottled and crooked
a hiccup in the sound
is like a smudge on the tv
like a crick in your neck
like mistakes that you never regret

it's the look upon your face
it's the rat that lost the race
it's the shivers in your spine
it's the heart you'll never find
it's the names in wet cement
it's the things you can't forget
it's the fear of growing old
it's the life you'll never know
it's the scratches in your teeth
it's the time you left for weeks
it's the age when you didn't care, darling

cutthroat and ambling
the help that's never around
just like a wish on your birthday
tired and empty
attacks on what you found
is like a spot on invention
like a bug in your food
like a thing that's too good to be true... and so

Compositor: Benjamin P Cooper
ECAD: Obra #24795570

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