Lapochka

How long must I wait
Till the mountains of avarice turn blue
How long must I wait
Till the moleskin I pick becomes fuse

Avulsion limps its spurs in the pinches of my earth
The dust I kick of anima shatters
Recorded on my reels of tape the trauma stops my flow
And in your suppression tastes sulfur

Hear the children say
Tear of mended sails

How long must I wait
Till the mountains of avarice turn blue
How long must I wait
Till the moleskin I pick becomes fuse

As if suddenly your avalanche
Reverses my polarity
And secretly I know that come Sunday morning
You'll be standing at the pulpit to an empty room

Hear the children say
Tear of mended sails

How long must I wait
Till the mountains of avarice turn blue
How long must I wait
Till the moleskin I pick becomes fuse

The drowning water
You drank
Passed on by birth
I’m no longer willing to give you control