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lyrics

You lay your belly on the stone
You put your face down in the water
You wore my eyes, you wore your grandfather's sweatshirt
You wore that winter light as if it were a hood

You hung your head out like a dog
you drove the heat from me, you hollered
I turned the cliff
I turned my cold collar upward
You turned your lips to see your teeth bared to the wind

But send no call to cover me
no postman, and no pale grey gull
no road to the bridge above Bixby
In our aimlessness, we are faded
In our nights, man, we are all our own

And January is a joke
January is a fever
Your feet were cold, your faith could not be recovered
You bought me for a square of chocolate and a poem

I broke the turnstile and the phone
I broke the mouth of copper wire
I ate the basin with its clandestine orchard
I took your face in both my hands and watched it fall

But send no call to cover me
no postman, and no pale grey gull
no road to the bridge above Bixby
In our aimlessness, we are faded
In our nights, man, we are all our own

And we have both been castaways
but you're not sinking in these shallows
I am not letting go, and I do not agree to follow you down
You bear that heavy load; I am prepared to hear it now

But send no call to comfort me
Come quiet, or come not at all
by the road to the bridge above Bixby
On the face of it nothing's fated
but in the nights, man, we are right where we belong

credits

from A Mouth May Grow, released May 11, 2018

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red steppes Oakland, California

red steppes is a project by Californian songwriter and visual artist Nika Aila States.

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