I am wearing a mask
Made of your skin--
It doesn't quite fit my face.
I'm wearing it in
'Til it stretches and goes
Limp as a body once its soul escapes.
I am licking your lips
The way you once did
When you treasured what the body
Could say. And I'm looking
In the mirror, for the first time
Without tears that release what
It hurts the soul to say.
Everyday, to see, in your face,
A mother's deathbed:
Bed she bore me on.
Grim motor-psycho music that goes from growling Steppenwolf jams to delightfully strange jazz/krautrock diversions. Bandcamp New & Notable Aug 24, 2020