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To Death’s Heart (In Three Parts)
by
Conor Oberst
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Didn’t hallucinate, it wasn’t strange Inside the lines I drew, been staying in my lane Wasn’t assigned to me, I’m not to blame Brown bottles of Jameson, grey ashes in a tray I put out Got cancer sick, got on a plane Visited the Vatican to watch the pontiff wave And he say, “Benedicente, benedicente, benedicente" On a long hot Sunday Got to get out of here, I can’t remain Limbs, they hang like chandeliers from alcohol and age Down in the weeds again, tough to explain Mattress soaked in gasoline makes iridescent flames; I lay down I’ll ask my love, what will she say? What’s it like to live with me here every f**king day? But she stays; “Agotante, agotante, agotante” In her most gentle way
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