II. I’ve been carving my elbows, I might just take flight. Starring:
Tatiana Maslany
Yoni Wolf
Grace Weir
Josiah Wolf
Ada McCulluch
Miles Joris-Peyrafitte - Director
James Siewert - Executive Producer
Brent Benedict - Producer
Stephen Gurewitz - Editor
John Rosenthal - Assistant Director
Joshua Bogart - Assistant Camera
Brendan Bequette - Assistant Camera
Michael Wolf - Home Video Footage
Andrew Boylan - Camcorder Footage
Keenan Parry - VFX
Joseph Mastantuono - Color Correction
GoodPost - Post Services
Many thanks to everyone above and Tony Stone & Malissa Auf Der Maur, Frances Sultan, John McChulluch, Amy Peterson, Basilica Hudson, Roman Horst, Lyle Vincent.
LYRICS:
-----
II. I’ve been carving my elbows, I might just take flight.
---
Reason
Give me a reason.
Give me a reason to come there.
Give me a reason, I’ll leave right now.
Give me a reason to come there.
Give me a reason.
Texture don’t show.
I’ve been waiting for all night to go to you.
Texture don’t show.
I’ve been carving my elbows, I might just take flight.
Give me a reason to come there.
Give me a reason, I’ll leave right now.
Give me a reason to come there.
Give me a reason.
Give me a reason.
---
Deleterio Motilis
After I say I’ll *WHAT* you in the bathroom of the pizza by slice place,
It’s not fair for me to ask what kinda wife you might make—
forbidding you to smoke like the fascist butt of a joke.
That is poor practice for opening the heart to a possible start.
Horn-rimmed Napoleon only in for the week,
on high over the breech, in a speech he’s been preaching since he’s been alive.
Jeez, nasty little man,
so fast to show his hand
to any last bastard who’s ass is in pants.
The man’s manners, mild, like winters in the south,
Rather odd he might inquire if he can finish in your mouth.
Sex-starved, wrecked, scarred, flesh marred, but best part:
Never bent bars hold men far from fresh start.
At dawn, with Hilton pen, he feels he’ll fall hard.
Yes, in bed the bard tends to pretend he’s all heart.
---
Stained Glass Slipper
Coroner, as October sees the leaves turn colors,
you’re so much older than when we first met each other
down in southern Cali and the pounding pattern
drum of pumping blood was sounding
even thought the subject was too young.
All I need is one night to see if it’s right.
You can cut me like street lights with the sunrise.
All I ask is one night to know if it’s right.
We can scatter like ashes when the cock cries.
On an autumn morning like this,
I sit and watch the shadows of birds on bricks,
think words to warm the marrow of this feral woman pharaoh
turning twenty five on the twenty sixth.
All I need is one night to see if it’s right.
We can scatter like ashes when the cock cries.
All I ask is one night to know if it’s right.
You can cut me like street lights with the sunrise.
0 Comments