Omma

Your make-up was your mothers
Dress and rest the same
Willed a life in hot paintings
With rose soups and tapped arteries

Compiled all of these parts
Maybe I'll see
Veins are the old voice
Skin's like folk ore
World-touch in your air
Pressed margarine hand

Beauty has many followers
Through the nights
Because it decays
Worlds at war for a fully
Automated day
You're knitting in a parking space, little by little
Antimacassar in May

Circumscribed by coming years
She lies at mouths life
Yet textiles in your voice, rest behind my back
My fingers curl out of time
As you walk
Through
My bed

Compiled all of these parts
Maybe I'll see
Veins are the old voice
Skin's like folk ore
World-touch in your air
Pressed margarine hand



Credits
Writer(s): Klæmint Hofgaard
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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