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lyrics

Take flight, all tuned out. Sing like the Choir somehow. Take my slice of the pie, keepsake for the Wolves at night. Scale back the peel and pulp. Try to reep, never to sow. Call out a different name, all my trials one and the same. One drag to make it back. In time, nothing but schwag. Sell my guts by the pound at the very thought of laying down. On display, Rotten Bouquet.

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from Weekends In The Cave, released June 6, 2019

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christopher neil sweeney Cincinnati, Ohio

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