| It seems I’m only me in sleep |
| Where we meet in dream |
| At the concrete bottom of the brody garage bridge you just jumped from |
| Who would’ve ever thought art school could be so sickening |
| Wearing a werewolf mask, you tuck your shirt in |
| You said its nice to look like you just stepped out of a movie |
| And sure, you look cinematic |
| Silhouette in the edge of a roof of a car parked |
| Under the orange sun set sky |
| With an empty sketch pad and a werewolf mask |
| We always meet too late after you done did it |
| Put cracks in concrete fifty feet from where I first saw you stand |
| A pack of little birds peck at your flesh and your monster mask |
| As I reach to touch your shoes to track the trail of where you’ve been |
| The ram’s crumpled horn, an empty turtle shell |
| Sunset is an all day process, sunset is an all day process |
| The ram’s crumpled horn, an empty turtle shell |
| Sunset is an all day process, sunset is an all day process |
| The ram’s crumpled horn, an empty turtle shell |
| Sunset is an all day process, sunset is an all day process |
| We seem to be sinking deeper into a vat of honey glaze |
| Shall we live |
| Or shall we laminate ourselves into a standard appetizing position |
| At school, next quarter, all the supply lists |
| Call for reynold’s wrap and contact paper |
| Report covers and lacquer am I here to something something |
| Or start a dead butterfly collection |
| William Howard Taft is appalled that as an artist |
| I wouldn’t want to overindulge in a set of |
| Highly toxic and rare natural pigments |
| Or beautiful paper to waste the rainforests with |
| But friends, we no longer rave for glitzy masters |
| Who paint gold leaf holy babies at the backs of cathedrals |
| And that’s a fact |
| Jack |