Testo White Cane The Dead Science
The spiders that drank us inNow rotting on our skin
A dusty vacancy lies between you and me
All those nights-polaroid photographs turned white
Sense memory lost like a burial at sea
A model of our love
As shot from high above
With every present tense it loses increments
Six months spent yield only garbage-strewn fragments
Numb endings, all that harsh stimuli smoke rings
Sense memory lost like a burial at sea
Numb endings, all that harsh stimuli smoke rings
