[ Featuring Robert Hoare ]
Ten Cent View
I'm sleeping in a book
Not marking a meaningful page
I'm not running out of things to say
But I'm watching the will to listen evaporate
I engage in backdoor thievery
Dried milk, tricksters, slight of hand stuff
There's monkey mind dust is baking across the lawn
Only a cosmic broom can sweep it all up
The scrap syllables, wandering notions, ear fur and word wax
It feels like there's nothing
But nothing beyond the little things that make me want to run away
From all the little things that make me want to stay
Interaction without the hassles
Doorbell sewage, tongue polish
This is not the middle of nowhere, but I sure as hell can see it from here
Yeah, it's mad, madder than mad
But less than strange
Once this has ended, maybe I can rest before getting back to being an asshole
I'm concerned with leftovers
Right eye on the mirror and the other on the waiting room
I wanna cash in on good old emotion
But I feel nothing, except when someone actually frames it
Nicely you know
Lace and a sunset, a sunset postcard
A pearl in molasses behind finger smeared glass
Dial zero, listen carefully for the flies bouncing off the window pane
It's a last dime snapshot
Walking the line
Extension Babel on
