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letra de acathasia - tilt

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one laydown machine burned a road, right through the prairie, stream of =
boiling ash painted up with perfect lines, discount labor packing each =
lane, bargain bas-m-nt homes sewn to the road, slipshod directions do =
not explain. i got these shoes for nothing and they have lasted me =
forever, searching up and down the lost highway. i can read the grid, i =
have memorized the key, counting every inch from c-4 to j-3, i can think =
in scale ’cause i know it ain’t on my map, scr-ping off the typeset, dig =
into the atlas. well they can paint it up, make it appear to go =
somewhere, well they can paint it up, but i know where it doesn’t lead.
submitted by: mel

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