Wishing wells from Pond Life by Cryptozoologists
Tracklist
| 6. | Wishing wells | 5:42 |
Lyrics
Another useless pilgrimage to the place where I was born. Good is gold unhad just past the guard rail. It's a good lost found, it's a good pond lost.
Funnel me suss and close like a swallow to my old house. Wishing well will that shape into house recognition because if not known now it will not be known still. And so: still.
And here I lost my passport. Kneed in the spitting ink, if purple is pain I'm a plumbox, hold my bruises in as time gets away on a suspension bridge in disguise.
Say plod and plod, and prod for some clear water's conjuring. But this ground is ever-plunging desert, I'm anachronistic, a judge gaveling sandcastles for his judgment's ache.
Here I lost my passport. Kneed in the spitting ink, if purple is pain I'm a plumbox, hold my bruises in as time gets away on a suspension bridge in disguise.
I used to think about it all more. Now wants to say that the garden let leaves just go, but one can never really know that sound. The future is a bad bad scene, it wants to forget. But if all goes to plan I will grow to be an old white man sitting in the sand of all that he couldn't hold in his two hands, and okay with it. Am I okay with it? As I dance and shake and I dance and I shake, and I can't keep still and I can't keep still, and intuition crashes my structuralist ride and whips me with my own lines into new shapes, same breathes. New shapes, same breathes.
And here I lost my passport. Kneed in the spitting ink, if purple is pain I'm a plumbox, hold my bruises in as time gets away on a suspension bridge in disguise.
"And all you have is what you are and what you give..."
