Plum
I let go of a pit from a plum, unwashed fingers
From the window of your truck
Sixteen miles south of town
We don't talk anymore
My throat's an ashtray for your worries
Ask me "a boy or a girl?"
There are things that make you nervous
Make you whisper at the restaurant
And I look back and forth from the cop in the kitchen
And the blood on your face, and the blood in the carpet
I can smell rotting fish when the shadow overtakes us
And the seagulls dive in hundreds and
The vultures blacken out the sun
From the window of your truck
Sixteen miles south of town
We don't talk anymore
My throat's an ashtray for your worries
Ask me "a boy or a girl?"
There are things that make you nervous
Make you whisper at the restaurant
And I look back and forth from the cop in the kitchen
And the blood on your face, and the blood in the carpet
I can smell rotting fish when the shadow overtakes us
And the seagulls dive in hundreds and
The vultures blacken out the sun
Credits
Writer(s): Pigeon Pit
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