| What other option is there
|
| Than to give your head away or take the one that’s given away?
|
| Or give away your stuff to your friends?
|
| But they don’t need it either in the snake pit
|
| You are but the snakes you fuck
|
| And not the other way around
|
| I believe that you touch yourself in the dark and think about nothing
|
| It’s some way to spend your time
|
| If two rivers down a mountain never touch, what does it matter to you?
|
| What does it mean to you?
|
| If you cared, the future would look different
|
| A thousand pine needles glowing red hot
|
| If two trees in the forest never touch, can you still see it?
|
| The snakes become your friends
|
| And flog you to death for your secret sin
|
| On a thousand steel needles glowing red hot
|
| What is another horseless cowboy
|
| That knows no dirt
|
| That knows no rope or brownish sunsets supposed to think?
|
| Standing in between two rivers, close enough to only see one river
|
| And touching themselves in the dark
|
| I knew a cowboy once and he hit me in the gut so hard
|
| I bled inside and I carried those guts with me forever
|
| The strange smell of misplaced guilt ever since then
|
| Hit me again
|
| Hit me again
|
| Hit me again
|
| Hit me again
|
| Hit me again
|
| Hit me again
|
| Hit me again
|
| Hit me again
|
| The corrugated face of the elephant
|
| The arctic smooth of the gun
|
| The face of the gun
|
| The substance that bridges the gun and the elephant
|
| To you on the other
|
| Side of the world
|
| Unknowing
|
| But on your back just the same
|
| Wondering your connection to them
|
| The face of the gun
|
| The arctic smooth of the gun
|
| The face of the elephant and the substance that bridges the gun
|
| To the involuntary silence of things
|
| After they’re done being things
|
| For now
|
| You don’t know anything about silence
|
| For now |