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lyrics

What's the matter with my face?
It's always porous.
Painted like a smear
you keep in storage.
Sold my fleshy tragedies
on bad recordings.
Take a look now at my spleen:
it's almost 'corpus,'
almost worthless,
almost surface,
almost plastic luck.
I'm so charming,
insane darling,
flawless proper smut.

Wrong souvenir love—
Attach me to the hip: fulfill intimacy, drugs.
Slasher flicks with flesh wound tricks
& doctors like to predict it.
Can I find what degrees need thugs?
English, Painting: entertaining!
Loaded pockets make me say, "What?"

What's a souvenir
without a target?
Let's drink to a Bronx Cheer
for deceased artists.
What's the matter with that bass
in the last chorus?
I recorded in one take:
it's almost gorgeous,
almost mirthless,
almost certain,
almost sexy muck.
It's so sparkling:
left-brain arty,
thoughtless, & uncut.

Wrong souvenir love—
Attach me to the hip: fulfill intimacy, drugs.
Slasher flicks with flesh wound tricks
& doctors like to predict it.
Can I find what degrees need thugs?
English, Painting: entertaining!
Loaded pockets make me say, "What?"
Artless dancing? Yeah, sure, Nancy.
Categories never give it up!

credits

from Skinned Genie and the Same Chords, released August 6, 2015

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Tiger In My Tank Mount Vernon, New York

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