I'm Convinced I Got Signed

There Is No Good Singing, There Is Only Present And Absent.

I Don't Write My Music For Sony. I Write It For The People Who Are Screaming Down The Road Crying To A Full-blast Stereo.

Kiss Me Out Of Desire, But Not Consolation.

I'm Lying In My Bed, Blanket Is Warm, This Body Will Never Keep Me Safe From Harm. I Still Feel Your Hair, Black Ribbons Of Coal. Touch My Skin To Keep Me Whole. If Only You'd Come Back To Me. To Feel You At My Side, Wouldn't Need No Mojo Pin To Keep Me Satisfied.

Your Soul Can Fly Outward, Stringed To Your Ribcage Like A Shimmering Kite In The Shape Of An Open Hand. Be Still And Listen To The Evidence Of Your Own Holiness.