Otto from Head by Jacob Hutto

There's a gun on my temple.

Otto's discouraged,
Completely encouraged by you.
Ravel your truths,
And soak yourself sprucely.

Is there a density which we immensely conspire?
The liar is dancing under the expletive fire.

He brings you a token,
Atonement dribbled in blood.
Stood in the aborted porch,
He's just ready for the flood.

There's a gun on my temple.

Crinkled and bleached,
Electorates just want to speak.
Everyone's murdered by their external instincts.

Stinging wasp,
Acknowledge me for I don't deserve the labels for your imbecilic fables.

And you,
Sprout my youth,
In every which way.

And you,
Are of glutton,
Let the pollen assemble.

Recognize,
My teary eyes.

I think I'll hang low,
For a day or two.

(See you soon.)

• Experimental
• folk
• lo-fi
• post-folk
• singer-songwriter
• Spring