give me that old fashioned morphine

give me that old fashioned morphine

give me that old fashioned morphine

it's good enough for me

this is music for a porch life and sunsets and

the sting of metal

and the way your lips tasted chalky after you ate

your words before i had a chance to read them

this is music

in the way the birds exploded from

the mountainside after you fired your gun

for no reason

just to show how strong you could be

(i remained unimpressed)

it was good enough for my grandpa

and it's good enough for me

he used to live the porch life

until his shaking hands broke the needle

so the only songs he had were the

dead dear moans

it had been caught by the bullet and when

it staggered on to our lawn

i could have cried

do you feel strong now? do you feel strong now?

it was good enough for billy burroughs

and it's good enough for me

i read you bad

stream of consciousness prose

while you played the blues scale in E

missing half the notes

this is music for our porch life

self referential and b r o k e n

we started to find difficulty

in finding our veins

so we just drank gasoline instead

it was good enough for isabelle eberhardt

and it's good enough for me

it was the rain that

came up from the ocean that drove us inside

abandoning the corpses already

floating in the yard

you took your guitar and i

took my book of poems and we

burnt our wicker rockers in the middle of the room

i wore my dress long to hide my knees

like the bird bones hidden in my fist

you had a hat, it seemed

unnecessarily formal

the only music was the

cracking of the fire and the

water on the porch, rising to cover our necks

we were patient

waiting for the record to finish

give me that old fashioned morphine

give me that old fashioned morphine

give me that old fashioned morphine

it's good enough for me