Abracadabraca
These Arms Are Snakes

Riding midnight rails on a self esteemed enginenTapping hopelessly on plastic keysnA bottle of friendly next to menAnd it never gets done, it never gets donennThe midnight oil tapped clearnLobotomy in actionnHitting walls at the turn of my headnIt's a quail's call echoing in the headnnThe fingers move small emotionnLike ligaments strung out, taught like stringnThe fingers move small emotionnLike ligaments strung out, taught like stringnnLimp like dead fishnTrying to find water to breathenOverworn and confusednnReaching in air for words I'd hoped to appearnWas put in the system last night, smelling up the skinnIt's open like deep skiesnnI need lift in my head, hours in a daynI want to hide behind the dresses of women I've never metnI need lift in my head, I need more hours in a daynnIt works well this waynThis machine like functionnEyes swollen half shutnnIt works well this waynLooking into wallsnFishing for humans in a moatnnIt never gets donenWith this it never gets donennIt's open like deep skiesnIt's open like deep skiesnFalling on pillars of demon godsnFalling on pillars of demon godsnnSometimes the hand just falls on the Book of GodnClenching your teeth hoping He'd finally give a nodnSave me, pleasenSave me, please

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