floral print — alice arm

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Текст floral print — alice arm

Pure and brittle like a star
i stick guitars to my teeth, crawl into
painted circus on my hands
i hope you do

going all the way down
’til i’m free
cold hands reach

walk into a middle age, a slew
of people to see, things to do
buddy’s chorus like a scarf
it fits, i hope it does
like a rope

i don’t really mind until i think i do
harvest garbage ‘cuz i treat it like it’s food
dime a dozen but they treat it like it’s free
i don’t mind until it cuts into my sleep

feeding spiders to the girl who cuts my hair
folding wallets into tiny sets of stairs
dollar bills are made from souls of dying trees
i don’t mind until it cuts into my sleep