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Hell's Red Clay Bodega

from Tigerbomb * Photobooth by Doc Pickles

/

lyrics

(Not a) Sick Guy
This is just a flesh wound in life's revealing,
Strip skin like a pea pod opening up,
Draw the drapes, pick the door,
Brace yourself for what Hell's red clay bodega has in store,
Licking lips at home to pounce on fear's apparition,
Punch at windmills, split the melon,
Unsealed lips they now be tellin'
With just a little taste of who partakes
In the buffet of wasted days,
All of the cards played, wind's cold and damp,
Shaggy hair and bingo stamp,
What then amounting to?
What was it again we came to do?
Have we all forgotten? What was it? Who be true? Who am I?
Adequately adequate, but not a sick guy.
Everyday now posted in sight
Some sick overnight into the oversight
Underestimated, undercounted, let it be set free,
Flames lick at the laces' untied shoes to flee and flesh,
Race to duck and cover isolation in your bed,
Was just like what the boogeyman said
In dreams of forgotten youth, those lidless eyes
And sublimated growl,
Afraid to move or to draw it's scowling gaze,
Can't run, feet encased in clay, bricks of silent wake,
Can't any of us scream "What was it?"
The cold call? or cull? Who am I?
Adequately adequate but not a sick guy.

credits

from Tigerbomb * Photobooth, released October 13, 2020

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Doc Pickles Toronto, Ontario

Tigerbomb are Emmet Rogan and Hugh Allen with Doc Pickles. From Toronto. Yeah.,

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