From A Loop Around The Sun:
Stair Keys
They laid secrets on my soul
Los, I’m not stair keys, Dale. Lathe.
Secrets mean that we are old.
I had to do as I was told
I judge myself and buckle under
Then forget, look back and wonder
How it happened that I lost it
When I had it, baked and frosted
While consequences barely pricked ‘em
When they laid it on the victim
Los, I’m not stair keys, Dale. Lathe
And for what they did, though I forgave
I’m still paying, though I focus
Elsewhere from their hocus pocus
The world’s afloat in it’s unfairness
In its keys and in their stairness
Los, I’m roof, I’m only feral
With limes, low and in my barrel
We all buckle for survival
Press a knuckle to your eyeball
Press your head against your bible
Or whatever is your idol.
I know secrets.
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