My baby's into the blues

Forgotten, and cold.
Sweat, and paradise.


"Oh, baby" she sang

"Oh, baby,
sweet cider woman.
Grab the gun.

The desert called
but at noon you'll be
tender,
rolled
over
my knees
woman"


...

...

...

...



Woman, now drown the cigarette.
Tell a different story, man.


"They will not notice."

Grab your jaw and mine, and break them, man.
My baby's into the blues.

("Oh baby,
your cinnabar eyes
what I want
I can't afford")

Sing free.
Sing them, grab them by the single cord, it's our bare hands the ones that are speaking for ourselves.



Woman, this is when you leave
with your constipated hands flickering.
And your motherly affection at the lowest.


Something is in the air,
I can feel the blues, the smell of the dirt.


("Sweet sweet
woman how
you screamed
for the love of him for the love of him.
Bide, woman, and grab the gun again")



We're under layers of sheets and laughing.
Unroll, you loaded creature.
Red, plum. Feed the wine.
My baby's all over the blues.

Play the music once more,
hand me your best effort, the riffs that I love.


And lend the woman a hand, man.
You keep them all safe,
store them.
I'll burn them half today half tomorrow
For your name alright.


Juice of hunger.
My baby loves the blues.