You saw that girl with obviously dyed hair, wearing all black, smoking cloves. Eel face. Her words would cut you up quicker than a Peter Murphy minute, so you pack your Depends heavy this day. For a second you thought she looked like the anti Little Debbie. Your slug brain was doing reverse in a pile of salt, withering, stinging.. Those animal casing lips of yours were jibber jabbering about what to say, while she was idle, yet soaring like a majestic vulture. She could have been the shapeshifter who snuck in to your room and ate all those hoagies you left sitting by the open window. Could she see you crying if you were swimming underwater in the frigid and poetically vile River of The Dead? Does she know the raven man who scared you in the woods once?

64 tracks