Professionally screen printed compact disc in a swanky jacket. It comes shrink wrapped and everything, so you know it’s legit.
Includes unlimited streaming of Pangaea
via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
You left a brushfire in my room:
pictures pushed deep down in dresser drawers,
along with other things of yours,
which here and there I still exhume.
For months I found your DNA
in silver stands of macramé,
until I learned to separate the interlocking knots.
Sweet adenine, your conjured codes coalesce in my dreams,
speaking of things the weary world of day has never seen,
till your hemlock-hands slip away from me.
I’ve heard the way you speak my name: sad and strange,
and my brain is filled with lidocaine,
and lately things don’t taste the same,
and my skin still feels like cellophane,
tepid to the touch.
Girl, it’s a fire, a fatal feud, between the two:
me and you in the womb of a telephone tomb,
and God knows I can’t sing that tune,
trapped in the fumes in a worn-out room,
watching the walls burn down.
Girl, you’re telling me things aren’t always exactly what they seem.
But babe, this time it’s true: you do exactly what it seems like you do.
Ain’t a soul I know’s believing you.