Spare Parts from & (imaginary) Friends by Enoch Robinson

I watched you rip flowers up from the lawn
you held a dandelion like a cross
I smiled, hanging from my
sister's shoulder's like a cloak

darling, don't you think that it's strange
to be so estranged
from the people we used to be
I get lost in these houses sometimes
pacing at night
it feels like they're alive

I sit on the floor of my den
I'm burning all that wasn't
stay, we can climb up to the roof
I wanna blah, blah, blah, blah, blah
all night

darling, don't you think that it's strange
to be so estranged
from the people we used to be
I get lost in these houses sometimes
pacing at night
it feels like they're alive


there are long dead men in the radio set
and they play out at ten in the morning
to bring us back into the bodies
we emptied for sleep
our fleshy machines
I open my eyes and there's
too much to see to be only me
I wanna splay out my sight like the sea
the stillness of life is
stacked in a line
like the blackcurrant jam
on the shelf where you keep your poems

in my shadow's belly
I walk barefoot by the lake
the wordless darkness rubs its back
against the roots and leaves
pressed against the earth
filthy with funeral dirt
singing
la da da

the restless girls toss their friend from a bridge
with her limbs wrapped in wire
and a head full of choir songs
she woke up blind in your bed
so you gathered and fed her
stories and oranges

she said,
"I suddenly feel like becoming
and though I don't know what I'll be
it's sugary sweet and it's starting to seep
from my eyes like a spoonful of honey."

• Folk
• folk-ish
• homerecording
• indie folk
• words
• New York