apple from crazy arms by pigeon pit

you lit a fire in the wood-stove, and i noticed
that you grew your hair back out past your sunburnt shoulders
a crushed clove of garlic in a spoonful of honey
it's hard to figure out all the ways you’ve been hurt
i’ll meet your green eyes in the dead grass with your backpack
and feel the words get stuck im my throat
but your mouth is bleeding in the back seat
you cant stop laughing at me swerving down the road

but who needs a headrest with a shoulder blade to catch you, do you?
122 hours here left, i'm gonna figure you out, darling
when the hell did these 18 inches ever get so far apart?
running back and forth like a nitrous charge:
mental prison, crazy arms

i watched you climbing out the window, pissing in a snow bank
we won't be here long, that's fine
close your eyes, tag along, another winter walk around the block
i’ll take all i'm gonna get out of our little fever dream,
like how could i ever try to tell you shit about a family?
with that little shop of horrors that you come from:
homelessness in fresno, california
i find god in how you let your trouble roll on by,
though certain things stay with you
and now i’m grinning in my handcuffs, dripping with the moment
locking eyes with people who could kill me and who wanted to
screaming “you can’t kill an idea”
i’ll stay out all night if i have to
to find the love was right there waiting for me all along
to grasp like a holstered service weapon

and everything in its place, attempts at language just melt away
colors more vivid than i've ever seen them splash across your face
settle in for them good news, you die a little bit every day
a kid with nothing to lose screaming down eastern parkway

until you open up your car door
and watch a body take flight like you never thought a human could
with love i watched you driving away
all the murder in your eyes, mangled bodies on the back porch
a drink for every close call, every tortured, winding night
and when that cruel dark melts into morning,
i’ll wish you good luck out there in the street
maybe kids who live the way we do were never meant to live so long
you walk that thin line between light and leaving

• Punk
• diy
• folk pop
• folk punk
• pop punk
• queer folk
• Olympia