zephyr
The guilty undertaker sighs
The lonesome organ grinder cries
The lonesome organ grinder cries
Gods the boy knows how to prod, both with his teeth and his words. Languidly you pull your wrist back from him, dropping it onto the couch beside you with the half-moan, half-grunt of the sexually frustrated and incredibly drunk. Bad luck all around, both here and everywhere else.
Maybe that's why you're not as guarded as usual, your eyes rolling shut as your head lolls back. "Bad luck like... like bad luck. Like people dyin'. Like gettin' drunk an' seein' ghosts." Vague enough for ya, Red? Because you aren't going to be particularly helpful in your current state.
Speaking of. "Mmm? Yea, alllll good. Y'know, must be people who'd love't get off on that. You oughta sell it. 'Stead'a the maps. 'Red's Fuckery Fangs'. Got a good ring."
Maybe that's why you're not as guarded as usual, your eyes rolling shut as your head lolls back. "Bad luck like... like bad luck. Like people dyin'. Like gettin' drunk an' seein' ghosts." Vague enough for ya, Red? Because you aren't going to be particularly helpful in your current state.
Speaking of. "Mmm? Yea, alllll good. Y'know, must be people who'd love't get off on that. You oughta sell it. 'Stead'a the maps. 'Red's Fuckery Fangs'. Got a good ring."
The silver saxophones say I should refuse you
But it's not that way, I wasn't born to lose you
But it's not that way, I wasn't born to lose you
