My guitars are two cock-outs ahead of my voice. The delay is shoveling dirt across my body. Dirt gets in my mouth, but my voice does not sound dirty. I am buried alive. I die with the voice of an angel, and when I get to “the gates,” I am still going “la la la.”
Up there, I’m not fooling anybody. What those guitars did was downright dirty, a sin. I am given a bucket with some soapy water. I am told to lower my cut-offs and “wash my dick.”
La la la — wash my dick the day I died
there ain’t but one way through the gates
— ‘cept wash your dick — wash it twice — and —
scrub it good — wash your dick — and then we’ll — talk
• Other Body: https://otherbody.bandcamp.com
• Ramp Local!: https://ramplocal.bandcamp.com
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