Cellophane from Porchlight Tragical by Emily Rose

The night wears the sky like a leather coat
Hooligans hide in her pockets
Society swallows a sedative
Afraid of their dreams

Rhythm gives lovers a purpose
While being reduced to a slave of the tongue
Dying a little synchronically
A futile attempt to stay young

We are all bankrupt and on the bench
Bathing in feces, denying the stench
Buying the box, just for the cellophane

Blue pages, bird cages, bowling pins
By-products of discipline
When love comes to tickle your forehead
Thoughts melt like snow

We're far from the fire
But primal patterns hard wired
Shedding the fur of our ancestors took us so long

We are all bankrupt and on the bench
Bathing in feces, denying the stench
Buying the box, just for the cellophane

• Folk
• indie
• Detroit