Laroche from Wych Elm by Orations

Up above heaven
poppy curtains close
and oh, oh, oh, oh, open,
but the son of god, ain't ready to go.
Do as you’re told, keep the gilded gates closed.

While we wait, with white man's muzak,
under scorching sun, set to taxiderm, set to stun.
Any good thoughts, hard fought, the wicked ones won.

And the moon meets us down here for once,
Cause it knows and empathizes with us;
It's mouth's in a permanent "Oh", What do I mean? If you don't know,
catch up fucker, time is screeching down below.

And you with your peace and infrequency,
the god spot, innate and hardwired to see,
primitive as the urge to come, come, come and go oh, oh, oh, oh.

But you can't leave, bones in your head crunch
under the weight of another fatso pants business brunch.
And I can’t unsee, unsee, unsee
the murderous singing three.

Polyamorous Adam's and Eve's flew
like cockroaches to low-hanging fruit trees and
Onto, onto, onto, onto, onto
to the next disease.
Ease, ease, ease.

• Alternative
• chorus
• college rock
• goth
• post punk
• reverb
• Buffalo