Song | She |
Artist | Subtle |
Album | A New White |
Download | Image LRC TXT |
She’s Ms Loves dirt for diamonds | |
Gargles spiders | |
Stops time, then steals lipstick | |
Tonight she’ll light one hundred cannons off one single cigarette | |
She’s fast like snapping gun guts, cold like cellar's bare foot | |
Then: the kind of woman you could love walks in: | |
She circles her | |
Beauty marks with the wet end of a blue pen | |
Staring softly through the high school play props and postcard parts of grown men | |
She knows we jerk off to the daughters of the world | |
She’s all that’s beautiful and opposite sad music | |
Running through green fields, in soft focus towards each other | |
And yet you. You boy you. You boy you | |
She was so black hold. So black hole in a china shop | |
She’s Ms Loves dirt for diamonds | |
Gargles spiders | |
Stops time, then steals lipstick | |
Tonight she’ll light one hundred cannons off one cigarette | |
She’s fast like snapping gun guts, cold like cellar's bare foot | |
Now, she climbs the girth | |
Of one small stone step somewhere | |
Screaming vaginal sabotage in the sun | |
To the purse of loosely pinched flesh | |
Between the pit formed by her upper arm chest and top adjoining | |
There, you were | |
You were boy with all the walls | |
And so she took her sugar elsewhere | |
Whilst you shuffle with enlightenment to date | |
She left you for the undertaker and his sensitive side | |
He’d say: | |
Baby morgues are people too | |
And I. And I. And I | |
After all, dear I love you | |
And I. And I. And I | |
Love you ; He is so | |
I. I. I love you ; He is so | |
When you open your mouth | |
She removes her gloves | |
And the sea pours mighty | |
From her hollowed sleeves | |
Until everything that is solved in | |
Life now begins to float around your socks and soaking ankles | |
Locks of semen | |
Tiny spears of beard | |
Clumps of baby teeth and even | |
A few cut feet of umbilical ribbon | |
Until you shut your eyes to | |
Draw the gloves back onto her | |
Gushing and half finished wrists | |
She brings the deluge | |
Tells you to bring nothing | |
But a rafts rope between your teeth | |
And some poem about yourself |
She' s Ms Loves dirt for diamonds | |
Gargles spiders | |
Stops time, then steals lipstick | |
Tonight she' ll light one hundred cannons off one single cigarette | |
She' s fast like snapping gun guts, cold like cellar' s bare foot | |
Then: the kind of woman you could love walks in: | |
She circles her | |
Beauty marks with the wet end of a blue pen | |
Staring softly through the high school play props and postcard parts of grown men | |
She knows we jerk off to the daughters of the world | |
She' s all that' s beautiful and opposite sad music | |
Running through green fields, in soft focus towards each other | |
And yet you. You boy you. You boy you | |
She was so black hold. So black hole in a china shop | |
She' s Ms Loves dirt for diamonds | |
Gargles spiders | |
Stops time, then steals lipstick | |
Tonight she' ll light one hundred cannons off one cigarette | |
She' s fast like snapping gun guts, cold like cellar' s bare foot | |
Now, she climbs the girth | |
Of one small stone step somewhere | |
Screaming vaginal sabotage in the sun | |
To the purse of loosely pinched flesh | |
Between the pit formed by her upper arm chest and top adjoining | |
There, you were | |
You were boy with all the walls | |
And so she took her sugar elsewhere | |
Whilst you shuffle with enlightenment to date | |
She left you for the undertaker and his sensitive side | |
He' d say: | |
Baby morgues are people too | |
And I. And I. And I | |
After all, dear I love you | |
And I. And I. And I | |
Love you nbsp He is so | |
I. I. I love you nbsp He is so | |
When you open your mouth | |
She removes her gloves | |
And the sea pours mighty | |
From her hollowed sleeves | |
Until everything that is solved in | |
Life now begins to float around your socks and soaking ankles | |
Locks of semen | |
Tiny spears of beard | |
Clumps of baby teeth and even | |
A few cut feet of umbilical ribbon | |
Until you shut your eyes to | |
Draw the gloves back onto her | |
Gushing and half finished wrists | |
She brings the deluge | |
Tells you to bring nothing | |
But a rafts rope between your teeth | |
And some poem about yourself |
She' s Ms Loves dirt for diamonds | |
Gargles spiders | |
Stops time, then steals lipstick | |
Tonight she' ll light one hundred cannons off one single cigarette | |
She' s fast like snapping gun guts, cold like cellar' s bare foot | |
Then: the kind of woman you could love walks in: | |
She circles her | |
Beauty marks with the wet end of a blue pen | |
Staring softly through the high school play props and postcard parts of grown men | |
She knows we jerk off to the daughters of the world | |
She' s all that' s beautiful and opposite sad music | |
Running through green fields, in soft focus towards each other | |
And yet you. You boy you. You boy you | |
She was so black hold. So black hole in a china shop | |
She' s Ms Loves dirt for diamonds | |
Gargles spiders | |
Stops time, then steals lipstick | |
Tonight she' ll light one hundred cannons off one cigarette | |
She' s fast like snapping gun guts, cold like cellar' s bare foot | |
Now, she climbs the girth | |
Of one small stone step somewhere | |
Screaming vaginal sabotage in the sun | |
To the purse of loosely pinched flesh | |
Between the pit formed by her upper arm chest and top adjoining | |
There, you were | |
You were boy with all the walls | |
And so she took her sugar elsewhere | |
Whilst you shuffle with enlightenment to date | |
She left you for the undertaker and his sensitive side | |
He' d say: | |
Baby morgues are people too | |
And I. And I. And I | |
After all, dear I love you | |
And I. And I. And I | |
Love you nbsp He is so | |
I. I. I love you nbsp He is so | |
When you open your mouth | |
She removes her gloves | |
And the sea pours mighty | |
From her hollowed sleeves | |
Until everything that is solved in | |
Life now begins to float around your socks and soaking ankles | |
Locks of semen | |
Tiny spears of beard | |
Clumps of baby teeth and even | |
A few cut feet of umbilical ribbon | |
Until you shut your eyes to | |
Draw the gloves back onto her | |
Gushing and half finished wrists | |
She brings the deluge | |
Tells you to bring nothing | |
But a rafts rope between your teeth | |
And some poem about yourself |