Concave (2018 Remaster)
Lowest of the Low
Popularity ยท Low
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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 lamplight
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 throught
But there's so much nothing to do
Why don't we go get lost
In the afternoon?
And the sky struggles to be born
All pink and liminal
Bleeding, half alive, like an animal
And you brush your chestnut hair
And smile wide as the sky
Like the concave of your eyes
And the scent...upon your warm orange skin's glow...in the graveyard bedclothes
Turn the lock on the door
Pull the cord from the phone