New Utensils
Fever Ray
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Bringing a bowl
Of pepper, sand, and salt
Get off at dawn
Digging a hole
Fill it with Tinder and coal
Precious time on your own
We light the lantern
A slumber dancer
Takes a form
Perfect location
Site observation
In a song
Maybe I come home Monday
Whatever works
Lips, fists, a mouthful of words
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New utensils
Think of the season
Like a poem
Grass, leaves, and tree
It's not up to me
Anymore
Maybe I come home Monday
Whatever works
Lips, fists, a mouthful of words
They’re always hungry
I might just spare some
Striking clouds
We bend our routine
Be nice to me
Before you're gone
Maybe I come home Monday
Whatever works
Lips, fists, a mouthful of words
West coast is the best coast
We feast in the east
Pull up a skirt
Grind the beasts