Realer Fates from Hyacinth by Dealer Plates

You are fucking someone next door and I’m in your room
You’ve got two apartments in Manhattan, that’s my crib times two
She is an assassin from the Temple of the Burroughs
You are fucking someone next door - I hope she kills you

I hope she kills me, too
Now I remember the drugs in here we used to do

Bunch of vacuums, bunch of dirtbags, sucking dirt as I hide in my room
Brain’s got one department, huge disaster, it’s a problem
If you write it and revisit, the courts have ruled it doesn’t count as talking to yourself
Notebooks, open notebooks, dorm desktop looks like it’s mocking my own health

I could be your windy night, let me watch from satellite
(In the kitchen with the candlestick, better come quick)
Driving is just like TV, still a screen between a world and me
Now the people outside this billboard town, fifty floors below, it’s getting boring

You are fucking someone next door and I’m in your room

• Experimental
• Folk
• folk punk
• freak folk
• psych
• Philadelphia