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The Dirt
par
Waxahatchee
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Loaded, you'll eulogize before you will preach Rubbing your filthy hands on my speech My hedonistic sugar-white beach And the grievance that I breed If I fill you with fiction that won't hurt Will you eat up my words with the dirt? Outside in my inept hands or my active eyes I'll use the oxygen in this room To call everyone I know and unhinge Disrupt neutrality You'll deliver a fable I could live And I'll throw it off the nearest cliff Long since I was as empty as a young child Hope lying in prospect I wasted my boredom hastily I'm a basement brimming with nothing great
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