1989: The Best Four Years Of My Life - Wow, Owls!

This is a picture postcard.

greetings from wherever I am

I’ve been handled and perused by second hand men in hand me down shoes

you want me to sing you a song?

what key do you want it in?

I’ve got the perfect pitch.

Dress and doll me up and ill assume your role.

dissect me.

don’t you disappoint me.

you can lay me on your table and cut me up with your

scalpel.

ill slip on the concrete just to get it right.

I’m your fool of all fools.

trapped in grammatical errors, we’re all prison

pent.

monsters make love in my closet with skeletons.

the doors wide open.

these words are recorded from black lungs.

You cant hug a photograph or kiss a melody but you can still relive memories

I’m encased in tattered transparencies and worn out grooves smoothed out by use

from a needle tracing impressions of direction

you can pick up my broken body, dust me off, remember that I tried

remember that we all tried

maybe this time the words will make sense.

is it so hard to lose your thoughts like mine?

it balms the mind with painless numbing novacaine neverminds.

Maybe this time the notes will fit in tune, I am the emulsion.

dead letters still can speak

we are not unique but we still can pretend as long we stand on the shoulders of

shadows of giants that were never there.

you can cleanse me

your melodies and harmonies erase me