Lowest Of The Low
Lowest Of The Low - Concave lyrics
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Concave theatre of the absurd Like a heat wave Eighth Street and twenty-third feeling unframed dripping down the chelsea steps tasting your name crushed up against my lips in the cool blue half light of the car park lamp light strange pull the tyranny of the divine cool and painful shivers up and down my spine a new distraction bumping up against the dark in fits of passion twisting like joan of arc in the white hot pure flame of a wide eyed clear haze you're sloppy-deep in thought but there's so much nothing to do why dont we go get lost in the afternoon And the sky struggles to be born all pink and liminal bleeding half animal like an animal and you brush your chestnut hair and smile as wide as the sky like the concave of your eyes and the scent of you warm orange skin's glow in the graveyard bed clothes turn the lock on the door pull the cord from the phone