My Bike from Those Flavors by Bopermans

The stones that form the angel's feet
I pull my lips from an ancient kiss
Own, nothing of my own
The seeds were sown unto weeds and bone.

I don't need another way.

Bleed, bleed if I bled
Feed the stones and wood where hero stood.
Called, called to the cave
By the jasper rays, the ashen spray.

Dawn, pray for the dawn
To escape the din of a shattered whim.
I could read it all again.
The subtle curves of the droning earth.

I don't need another way.

As I watch the letters fade in the molten waves
Waves,
No loss of truth betrayed
The broken thoughts they frame
Frame,
They mask the ancient shame.

• Electronic
• Experimental
• USA
• indie electronic
• synthwave
• trip hop
• Ojai