![]() ![]() The rubble looks inviting right behind your cotton candy eyes. But the echo's getting weak, and so we walk through paths of aftermaths, disasters that leave cities flat, providing us a backdrop of structural crumble. Reminds me of the time before I got too old to hold onto even an inch of innocence, before my youth was spent on common sense and non-events, reliving instances in which my racing heart rate would reverberate throughout the universe for centuries. Please don't take my Stevie Wonder, Wire, X, or my Tom Waits away.Īnd please don't take my Joy Division, and please don't take my Television, please don't take my Bad Religion, and please don't take my Jane's Addiction, please don't take my Daydream Nation, please don't take my The Replacements, please don't take my Kimya Dawson, and please don't take my Leonard Cohen, and please don't take my New Day Rising, and please don't take my Bob Dylan.Īnd if I'm hard to find, I'll still be here among the alleyways and willows watching fireflies adorn across the street with tiny silent bursts of emerald. I'm not quite ready to describe these Xs on my eyes.ĭon't forget those compilations we made.I could never listen to those bands again if you walk away. The birds forgive us all the shit we said while night filled up our hearts with fatal lies, poisoned our blood with punishing amounts of wine.īy the time you open them again, my lines will have been written on the windowsill beside your head requesting temporary asylum from interrogation. We've come to kill your family with molotov philosophies and songs that make your mothers cry.īy the time you close your silver satellite eyes, the town will have become grey with sunrise. We've come to climb your apple trees and balance on the fence along the pond where we caught dragonflies. My body's shattered like a Saturday night. We're gonna fake it till the break of dawn.Ĭut the parachute lines (your tongue) your words have sent me spiralling to the ground. Your words have hurled me to the bruise-colored sky. My heart was aching for a masochistic metaphor before the break began to shake and making all my bones to sawdust from the dusky darkling scars across the scarlet sky where Venus (Aphrodite) writes her lovely lines to save us all.Ĭut the catapult lines (your tongue). My hovercraft was sore from all the times we hit the floor, but since I got it fixed I thought the shocks were hot and sent for more. ![]() Well I turned green as soon as I got free, grew some leaves and limbs, died as soon as wintertime decide but oh, when spring arrived, I was alive again!Ĭlose down your colored doors and sing me to your misty moors and follow all the flaws that cause a plague of frogs to flood the floor. Well that wretched cherub hit the road, finally found himself a face. Well that old trash fairy hit the road, finally found herself a way. Well take me to the liq, you know I ned something sweet to help me chase my blues and my clichés away. Well the old man says I'm drinking way too much, well I don't think so-I can still remember every single day. My soul's surfing on the crest of a wave and man, it looks as though it's been awhile since he has shaved, and well I yell for him to come and get back into my chest, but he flies away and falls into a dumpster instead, I said. My tongue's hanging from a telephone pole, It's got a staple through the center to be certain it holds above a city full of people who will never get old because the music is their medicine, religion, and gold. I will sing until the world's indifferent and I will scream until my lungs are filled with blood. Well I yell for it to come and get back into my head, but it runs away and jumps into the gutter instead, I said.īelle, believe I'm laughing all the way to the banks of floods. My brain's rolling up the side of a hill until it finds itself a spot to watch the world go to hell, AFTER you have listened to ROW YOUR BOAT.īTW If you sell Garvey a cheap reliable used car or touring van you'll be guaranteed to be reincarnated as higher than a grasshopper.My heart's sitting at the side of the road, and oh I gotta get it back you know before it explodes all over everything I love and everybody I know until the neighborhood is covered up with blood from the blow. MOTH NOR RUST is auditioning female singers, skilled instrumentalists and a roadie/driver, and looking for video production persons and actors for a surreal music comedy feature film. He is based in the corn fields of central Illinois near Champaign. Garvey is an artist, composer, and filmmaker. MOTH NOR RUST is a solo project of Frank Garvey with occasional guest artists. ![]()
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