Too much hand, too much hand they say I give you, as if you & your mother never seen my near death, hit and laid out like I’m dead or a fish out of water, picked to kiss death, came to, first thing I bought was a stroller, then a crossbow after the rapture. Holier than targets, needing me to trust they’re best at organizing my marriage, the world’s carnage is just.
Trusting me is hard when you’re off guard in need, lets find our way out before the human sees us, read us, catch us with souls intact, mole fresh and all they hit you with the pretty guns too, pepper scene like a dream bullets, jewels & fortunes, family says take the money, and please don’t take our future. Call them beggars, that’s the recoil, but you weren’t there when they killed at the revote, society’s remote, and so we think it is, people kill to be the craziest when lazy with choice, choosing decapitation because they think that’s ahead of a life, they couldn’t be more last place than religion in the Olympics.
Bottle caps no grass, I confess abuse, loaded rotted cap, the future obtuse, lonely with jokes, flavored with floats, floatin stories untold, secrets, I blank my life but fuck it here goes. I’m bothered by perversion, like everybody else, but my kink is to transgress so please be yourself, we can make sense later when guns go pop, or we can meet halfway now when the fathers go dumb, in front of their sons, with memorable puns, loser of people, greed scheming, dying to grieve, losing sleep by the sleeve.
credits
from aftercare..,
released May 10, 2020
instrumental & lyrics by Antonio H. Escobar.
