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Analogue Tape Dispenser - Willie Manuel Lyrics

It goes papa burned his face off so i don't want to work a day job. purged a third of his nerves and all i learned was fuck a day job. slight gap between our likeness rained ash and turned my collar black. so i laugh when i get mistaken for a college grad. he was glass, brass and grease stains. three siblings to divide us and a wife. health slipped. schlitz pissing convenient pious. every newport was a lit prayer wrenched 'til cysts were timeless. golden days eighties baby raised by an arthritic midas' thousand tongues carping "hey, eight-year-old, you'll never be shit!" tucked away agape when he sees the women that i sleep with. 'cause sons fuck. antoine's got five my proof is past due. i'm carrion for vultures. my brother's a gang tattoo. anchored anger in his passed blues blooms and he sees it. clip and scale in the closet turned marine. willie beaming. now the shadow that i sleep in is nine years my elder. conception spawned his lockjaw on a bed of nails and failures. like, this is how failed braille works. this is how the frail burn at thirty-seven when your father does the day your second son's born

All we ever wanted. our fathers, not an altar. bloodspun specter home of culling mississippi water