Gnashville

sometimes i claim to know a guy but i can't tell you what his hands look like.

guess who's coming to dinner.

gnashville. never in the night.

never in the night when the knot grows tighter than fingers can untie

and all the last half dammed rivers have gone dry

does the cock crow thrice until someone is denied

or the morning comes

you wonder will you ever get your shit together

what is that a leather sofa and a feather in an old fur hat

fake tat lost in a box of cracker jacks

practicing your plane wreck face in a first class lav

(that's what the ghost of someone's dad might say)

when they come calling, i won't go calm

there is no palm or divine mitt

with which to hold one's pit

or seperate the human race from its enviroment

no scattered ashes loosely gather asking where the fire went

we're left with half truth psalms

in an indecypherable scrawl in some vague extinct language

ancient ink dull, almost vanished on some old brittle scroll

(that's what the ghost of someone's dad might say)