Four-panel digipak manufactured by Baltimore's Morphiusdisc Manufacturing with four-panel insert for lyrics and liner notes. Features original artwork by Luke Kirkland.
Also includes immediate download of 9-track album in your choice of 320k mp3, FLAC, or just about any other format you could possibly desire.
ships out within 3 days
edition of 500
Purchasable with gift card
$5USD
lyrics
I float. This mystery moat
Is pitting my pince-nez against petticoats
And smelling salts.
But I’ll fold.
These ropes won’t hold.
I’m spitting my pits in profiteroles
And getting old.
Cold.
I’m out cold, pacing the poles.
I’m out cold.
Nosy plainclothes dolt.
Slowing down. Letting go.
Heavy rowboats coast and break speed.
Better winds suit sails such as these:
Shining red epithets
Blessed against the wilderness,
Soaked through the slip to the sleeves;
Pink pantyhose rosaries rolled
By pressed panoply wrists to ankles;
The handsome and heavy set
In bosom, breast, and intellect,
Fetched hence for less than the bulls.
Sweet c’est la vie esprit de corps.
French etiquette best to rest sure
Of which enemy mists amaze more:
The porches engorged
Or plain white posts setting down spokes?
Pay rolls,
Down cliffs I’m told.
So I’m setting my spoils on marigolds
And betting bold.
Cold.
I’m out cold, pacing the polls.
I’m out cold.
Nosy plainclothes, pacing shadows,
May be pasting pinholes, hastily, simple, clumsy.
Nosy plainclothes, wasting windows,
May be shaving shingles short of temples.
Clumsy. Clumsy.
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