It’s so fucken quiet
I can hear my sickness
It’s so fucken quiet I can hear my dick think
It’s so fucken quiet I can hear my ice melt
And feel the cards dealt
It’s so fucken quiet my toast burns
As my stomach turns
It’s so fucken quiet I can hear the church bells ring
And the gospel girls sing
It’s so fucken quiet I can feel my conscience drink
2 comments:
When it gets that quiet...make some noise to quiet the silence.
echoes a kindred sense of directness, a striped down to bare essentials witnessing of WSB in The Black Rider- that's the way the gravy trains, that's the way the moon wains
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