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lyrics

Lighting smoke
a pin to poke
a hole through me
on a soupy moon.

An eidolon
to build upon
a forming cloud
on a statue smooth

and we were sluiced,
sleeping drunk as death.
Curling bodies,
'round a form of breath.

The snowstorm came
a funny frame
to fall around,
and a silly swoon.

Bristling
with angel wings
her gooseflesh skin,
Emma kicks the loom.

We were sluiced,
sleeping drunk as death.
Curling bodies
'round a form of breath.

We were sluiced,
sleeping drunk as death.
Emma kicks the loom
on the warp and weft.

credits

from Source FM Session, released December 19, 2018

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Frances Pylons Bristol, UK

Withering spit

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