Constable
Someone's faking their disease of empath winding
Into mother's arms are bowing
Sketching lightly
Grazing grey on veins
Lowball craving
For my hubris
Collecting bare bones but I'm undressed
Any lead with deep pockets will do
Stitching corroborates with half truths

Venerable
Someone's ranking up their retreat with good men dying
Into panicked waters drying
Sketchbook charcoal
I can't trace daylight
It only refracts when I'm shocked blind
Smoke break, breathes snow, sniff, sneeze, and lines
Any work release isn't true
An egghead will break their mantra and convert to awful

A lenticular slap
To the cross eyed seeker
A bridge written off the map
News crawl from a goddamn tweaker

I faked an injury
Call off the bottom feeders
Bent rules of ritual
As fact from a deceiver

Uncanny
Weeds begat mandolins strung out on faith-works
Splintered into seeds are showing
Under tongue
Patterns upchucked from downstream
A pack a day throat that sings the blues I sing
Transactions cashless its collection call rings
On the other end, I'm shaking shivers
Taking requests from the queue of givers

Garden mulch
Turned over to see a dead arm reading weekday selections
From the world is agreeing
I can't sniff lightly
Palpitations tick on time
I only wanted one and that was gonna be fine
Mary mother of crack rocks the sun comes through the blinds
On the other end, I'm shaking shivers
Taking requests for a queue of givers

A lenticular slap
To the cross-eyed seeker
The bridge written off the map
News crawl from a goddamn tweaker

I faked an injury
Call off the bottom feeders
Bent rules of ritual
As fact from a deceiver

Hold on to loose ends
Hold on to those loose ends

Hold on to those loose ends
Hold on to those loose ends

Hold on to loose ends
Hold on to those loose ends

Hold on to those loose ends
Hold on to those loose ends

Copyright: Mute Song Limited, O/B/O DistroKid
Writer(s): Ryley Thomas Walker