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The Hair​-​trigger Flamenco

from Hospital Music for the Aesthetics of Language by Trophy Scars

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about

Lost; I thought you were lost?

I keep on hiding from this
Winter is moving east towards
New Jersey will encompass
A harbored glacier ice storm
Now no one knows the difference
I'm not an empiricist
But your answers are forgiven
I'm just not living like this

Your endeavors
Are dancing on top of the world
You said you said
These pills are shining like pearls
Put the telephone on hold 'cause
I need to recount all my words
There's a shard of dyslexia caught in my eye

I'm taking that girl to the bank
I'm dancing all night
These knives by the way you abuse them
Are glowing like ice
I'm back and I love everyone
I color between all the lines
My stomach is red rosy cinnamon
And baked into pies

My death bed Is shaking and trembling in fear
And the priest, and the priest
Is weeping and drinking his beer
I know words alright
It's all about what you don't hear
I hear words alright, alright

I'm taking that girl to the bank
I'm dancing all night
These knives by the way you abuse them
Are glowing like ice
I'm back and I love everyone
I color between all the lines
My stomach is red rosy cinnamon
And baked into pies

Violet Bruises
These drinks will out way them
Out way them oh

I know the Spanish flamenco
The dance that we break and turn into limbo
The reflection is simple
So everyone knows in the end
My friend
My heart is a headache
It's held in a neck brace
It's beaming with bad taste
And lost in ghost chase
So everyone knows in the end I'm losing,
My friend

So pour another glass of this whiskey
It's making me dizzy
I like being dizzy
I like being sleepy
Oh I like feeling sleepy
So come on, let's dance baby!

This river's a fountain
A corpse in the canyon
A drink in the mountains
We breathe all around them
To turn it in to ice Ice, ice

Lose your control
To find out you know
No one has died
It was just the snow oh
It was just the snow oh

So pour another glass of this whiskey
And dance let's dance

Dance like your dead
And those words words
Words in your head
They stopped stopped
Stopped making sense
And (ohh) slaughter you said...

credits

from Hospital Music for the Aesthetics of Language, released January 1, 2004

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Trophy Scars Morristown, New Jersey

Post-whatever, psych-soaked blues. Est. 2002, NJ.

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