Lowest Of The Low Concave Lyrics

Concave Lyrics

Concave

theatre of the absurd

Like a heat wave

Eighth Street and twenty-third

feeling unframed

dripping down the chelsea steps

tasting your name

crushed up against my lips



in the cool blue half light

of the car park lamp light



strange pull

the tyranny of the divine

cool and painful

shivers up and down my spine

a new distraction

bumping up against the dark

in fits of passion

twisting like joan of arc



in the white hot pure flame

of a wide eyed clear haze



you're sloppy-deep in thought

but there's so much nothing to do

why dont we go get lost

in the afternoon



And the sky struggles to be born

all pink and liminal

bleeding half animal

like an animal

and you brush your chestnut hair

and smile as wide as the sky

like the concave of your eyes

and the scent



of you warm orange skin's glow

in the graveyard bed clothes

turn the lock on the door

pull the cord from the phone