the crypt.

Regurgitated from your crypt
dressed in another man’s suit
whilst his pulse is still warm
the house the curtains
The blind leading the blind

wrong street the man’s a island

the rings on your hand
the stolen wedding band
the kings of folded cards
the sours in its shaking hand.

the slide the instructions for a revolution

The welcome mat put away

its changed its mind
go away, its hotlines
wont stop ringing
the tapes still spinning.

the rings on your hand
the stolen wedding band
the Kings of folded cards
the sours in its shaking hand

the hissing, the fits
of laughter for the tin can
alley man the orange peel
cocktail with its toast the
ring on its nose.

The reams of realms of the mortal cords
cut like ribbons your on the floor

The rings on your hand
the stolen wedding band
the kings of folded cards
the sours in its shaking hand.

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