letra de postal address - alexander biggs
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i stay up late now
rise with the sun
head in a vice and
a phone in my arms
i was trying to call you
to say what you want
i was trying to call you
sick to my stomach
i got your psychic
postal address and
i sent a postcard
straight to your head
i hope that you get it
i hope it makes sense
i thought of the ocean
thought of your legs
i rest my head
you stumble in
roof’s getting damaged
hail’s coming
a meteor shower
rattling tin
i’d say it is soothing
the world could be ending
‘least i imagine
call me john lennon
i got a paycheck
straight to my landlord
house that we wanted
we can’t afford it
beats where we last were
house made of cardboard
in the city
busy and bored
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