Another track from the jukebox catalog of None So Distant.
Last night you set my quizzical pompadour on fire. Tonight, baby, I’m yours, behind the shed, all slangy and lonesome, in the needle’s eye of a hell-bellied storm.
We are out here on all fours panting in the sun the bleary merciless maraschino sun burning us. It has been a long while one of those spells that feels foreverish out here in these fields unseen dreaming of god knows what. We are permanently scarred. Some of us suggested we become a group that goes by the name Permanently Scarred maybe a band except none of us sing or play an instrument. I’d say we are disembodied voices except we are on all fours with the sun burning us so something like bodies like skin must be our lot and inheritance. Knowing the void answerless you’d think we’d stop asking questions but we don’t What’s for dinner Where’s the moon Did we do something to deserve this. We ask answerless and listen hoping dreamless. You could call us a sorry bunch but then again not knowing whether finite or infinite there is nothing to assess no one to blame. There’s just us on all fours the sun burning unrelenting. If we decide to call ourselves Permanently Scarred maybe one of us will learn to sing so we can earn our name. It’s either that or absolute silence which none of us have yet tried.