Her glimpse is my white flag
Like goldfish [in] plastic bags
Perplexing my insides
Just smother your own pride
My heartbeat is high strung
I'm holding back my tongue
I'm staring, glance inside
A cold sweat, I'm alive
You're only as good as the quarters inside
The washer devours your garments alive
Adjacent buildings lit up in the seams
Lights on in some rooms gap like missing teeth
The telephone sits on the vast ocean floor
I'm sorry you had the wrong number before
Sleepwalk Backwards
Baking my secrets inside of this frame
Oven 350°, elongated grave
Just a few teaspoons of half-hearted wit
Enough to bust straight heart-attacks for a bit
I'll ring your doorbell and wait in a tree
Please let me go straight to voicemail and flee
I'll wait in the lobby with suitcases stacked
I'll swallow my words when you cough them right back
(Half-heavy voicebox)
