Notes From a Cult Classic

The shoulders and arms that we invested
In the summer
Were bridges we built in lo-fi
And quiet talk
And I am scared to death that this
One will turn another and
We will abandon all our plans

You know this isn’t us

If only I could reach you
If only I could reach through the phone to
Tell you everything
An able mouth would say, maybe
Maybe things would be OK

Dallas is burning overhead this caravan
Immune to age and
Advertising disregard

Don’t go asking of yourself now

A desperate attempt to fashion you
A brand new tourniquet over
Empty signals and verbs