| I hear the gun go off
|
| An afterlife
|
| On the tip
|
| Of your tongue
|
| Club Dread drums from the fog
|
| A fever pulse, a dull vibration
|
| I call your phone it goes to voicemail
|
| I call your phone it goes and goes and goes
|
| Club Dread like nothing bleeds
|
| Like baby gets what baby needs
|
| Like violence couldn’t find us underground
|
| Like each night’s an oyster world
|
| A phantom life, a swallowed pearl
|
| My girls and I, we lead our own designs
|
| Unyielding to time
|
| Lost in everlasting fog
|
| Your body broken open
|
| Oh you spine-tousled child of god
|
| Life must not care for us
|
| Sticky like a mango
|
| Tapioca bellyache
|
| Oakland to my West
|
| I dream of you as distance
|
| Though only longing remains
|
| And love’s sapped my strength
|
| I could never hold a smile
|
| Like you held mine
|
| After years, acting out against your care
|
| I can barely say your name
|
| Without a tremble in my voice
|
| Heaven has changed
|
| For every time the morning sun
|
| Snuck up on us out here making off
|
| There’s a coyness to that tender light
|
| To undestroy you
|
| Well you can waste our time
|
| Anytime that you’d like |