Sunburnt

Twig crowns on oblivion.
Like Paul, he was crazy too.
It's the same, worn Foucauldian metaphors
when talking about how to talk to you.

I got sunburnt by the void.
I'm sending you postcards, I'm outside.
How can I show you the dark?
How will it make sense as light?

Same notes since grade school.
Changing strings doesn't change the song.
They're teaching harmonies deep in the bunker,
But new chords doesn't make it not sound wrong.

I got sunburnt by the void.
This is your postcard, come outside.
I'm wanting to show you the dark;
I want it to make sense as light.

I can't mourn you
when I'm the one who's changed.



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