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I'll be swimming in the ditchesWith the brimming snowmeltWith unexplainable fishesAnd the plopped-down mallards belt outFor vouchers of pizza couponsSurrounding the mailboxAnd drowned in the lawnsThere with meYes, some spiny heart grievesFor our occasional escapeIn its artichoke leavesThat our bottom teeth familially scrapeThen discard on creased paper platesAs a knife extricates what's releasedAnd the heat levitatesDoes your dad fall asleepWith the remote in his hand?Does a digital beepPromote gentle reprimandTo share all your loveLike the threadbare cloth ofSome T-shirt your mom wearsFrom a tournament of soccer you playedIn 1998?SongtexteHe bakes blank birthday cakesIn the grocery store flickerAnd the hard plastic casesHe seals with a stickerWith a bar code and what's owedAnd in a gossiping snickerThe birthday-boy momsWith expired pom-poms gravitateTo personalize oneFor her first and only prized sonI cannot sleepWith this language snowing so deeplyIn my headDim soccer goalsAnd non-marking gym solesWith which I walk through insteadThe archaic layout of the buildings that play outMy past as I'm lying in my bedThey will not stay out and so the only way outIs to worship these worlds with my face redBlushing beauteouslyRushing circuitouslyShaking with every endorphinConstantly mesmerizedBy all I've memorizedLeaving no place as an orphanI perfect my conveyance by directing a seanceFrom an eighth grade computer lab station in the basementWhere the latchkey kids feel like a non-factorAnd the black-ice skids call the strip-mallChiropractorTo the sweetly faulty parentsOn their white-stained salty errandsNonetheless, I digressI walk throughEach janitor's closetAnd lavatory faucetAnd desk configurationAnd signature validationOn a permission slip nervously forgedClarifying tenuous eras of my penmanship's formationThe holy gradationFor the coaches that wronged meAnd my sense of belongingThere's a song I can taste when the braces are tightenedAnd the forceps clamp and the summer is heightenedAnd my mouth is the amplifier that voices its nameWell, no two-bit piece of shit interloperIs gonna touch my world or molest my hope orMy kingdom that lingers in each drawer I openWhen I open it up I'll be groping at what is for damn sureIn the dimming of Sylvan Manor Aus Songtexte Mania