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letra de salt wound routine - thirteen senses

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red letters on the dashboard, oh what a gap
they pursue us to the deep end and then depart
watch as the cracks in the wall feel pain
for only patterns on a snake’s back give us genuine fear

and i cannot lie, faces drop into the fire
i get by all the time on a shelf above the door
and it shouldn’t be clear but it’s not for me to decide
it’s a delicate degree, it’s a number i can see

could prison cells be in my brain
for they’re safe inside the cover of a dirty face
and everybody finds a college graduate with joy
while i’m happy just sipping tonic water with lemon and lime

and i cannot lie, faces drop into the fire
i get by all the time on a shelf above the door
and it shouldn’t be clear but it’s not for me to decide
it’s a delicate degree, it’s a number i can see

you sit at home up late at nights
when it’s beginning to arrive
and honestly, i don’t see the need for any routines
i’m all out of sink, i cover my cuts
and hope they are fixed before i get hurt again

and all this ground beneath my feet
has decided not to crumble into the sea
i walked in a house, it smelt of paint
and the ceiling it has no trouble with me

- thirteen senses

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