Grant Lee drove east with Willie the cat, who looked like a lively piece of taxidermy by his side.
The old silver Saturn was stuffed with paper towels in the door wells and window cracks,
but all the dust still got in to coat the little hula girl that the sun turned a horrifying purple.
Together they leave Leadville behind to see what Appalachia has to say to them.
The old silver Saturn was stuffed with paper towels in the door wells and window cracks,
I don’t know what they learned, but I know the way white lines cross West Virginia.
Together they leave Leadville behind to see what Appalachia has to say to them.
Skeletons bike between floating skies and green. I know that the green doesn’t care.
I don’t know what they learned, but I know the way white lines cross West Virginia.
I run from ordered times, neglecting all conventional demands that God has for this orange day.
Skeletons bike between floating skies and green. I know that the green doesn’t care.
I am headed west by going north through the valley of the clumsy and rejected.
I run from ordered times, neglecting all conventional demands that God has for this orange day.
June cottonwood will treat my lungs like stale smoke. I’ll choke on songs that make me miss you.
I’m headed west by going north through the valley of the clumsy and rejected.
On this sluggish morning I cannot escape the sweaty reality of fevered dreams and boozy piss.
June cottonwood will treat my lungs like stale smoke. I’ll choke on songs that make me miss you.
I want to have no purpose in life but to move sticks and listen to the green but it’s all cold.
On this sluggish morning I can’t escape the sweaty reality of fevered dreams and boozy piss.
So, I sit on the ground and pick up trash: hundreds of cigarettes picked from between the ribs.
I want to have no purpose in life but to move sticks and listen to the green but it’s all cold,
each one brought to unknown lips for a kiss and thrown to the ground, now lying purposeless.
I sit on the ground and pick up trash. Hundreds of cigarettes picked from between the ribs.
Hundreds of cigarettes’ bellies, set alight, still full of tobacco and uncomprehending of the sky.
My bag is fat with these abandoned lovers, still the ground is freckled by these tiny white bodies.
Grant Lee drove east with Willie the cat, looking like a lively piece of taxidermy by his side.