Lyrics
Lay me down in a hearseback, it's where my new best look is at.
If I slit a purse or two then I can't curse if my cake is cooked and minor veins are mapped.
These tits not filled with milk, these cold bones wrapped in hunger
Like a bundle of sticks in a fire so slow it leaves them unburned, black and yearning.
Will this new year's see my rotting hair's release?
Will my new black book pull the sick from my deepest creases?
-A gift from The Maccabees to mom to me,
No more flier backs or receipts, using magazines for tables.
A girl's down bed and corresponding naked wings unable
When I felt my ribs come closing slow, a row of snakes set to strangle
I am survived
Lay me down in a hearseback, it's where my new best look is at.
If I slit a purse or two then I can't curse if my cake is cooked and minor veins are mapped
But you might find me in the white pages yet, my name is next to numbers
Like someone's father's father: left listed in the book of numbers,
Like someone's father's father: left listed in the book of numbers.
