produced by Kyle "Slick" Johnson.
mastered by Ryan Schwabe.
Oh how black the pavement is
In all the neighborhoods there are left to live
Glaring lapses there have passed
The windows closed to the drafts and the vessels were snatched
Our bodies jointed and julienned in the sun
Clean shaven and pressed down to pleading pulp
Inside out now the clotheslines strum dumbly on
Strung up absences pinned up as warnings of
On a tarpaulin in the weeds
They lay me down slow and so easy
They hum your hurting days are through
Even when I'm begging still to follow
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