Lyrics

Annie come over it’s fine

You’re broken and beating on obsessive lines

And I’m starting to doubt it’s a sign

That your terror of meaning is so such like mine

Kin and crested, go it alone

Get digested, into the unknown

Been molested, stunted and grown and I

You got your cynicism with you like it’s your best friend

Your addictions on your shoulders as the gods pretend

And all of these aimless interlopers only want your ends

You say it doesn’t matter and I just cannot defend

The way you’re chewing on the smoke and spitting back the ash

The way you suckle down the incense like it carries cash

Feeling so far gone from feeling that you reach the crash of

Trading passion for your ration thinking that could patch the gash

But it won’t

And on and oning, devil drawing

Papal pawing, Menage a trois-ing

Creep and crawling, steeple sawing

It smells like palo santo

And snuffed out candles

And I can’t handle

This wax on the mantle

The fever rambles

And feeds me scandals

Of holly trampled and

Blood on my sandals

Annie it’s over it’s gone

You fleshed it out and you got wrong

Annie it’s over it’s broken

And shoved back in like it can’t admit

That a friendly face would not always fit

Like Johanna’s charms and her disquiet

It smells like

It smells like palo santo

And snuffed out candles

And I can’t handle

This wax on the mantle

The fever rambles

And feeds me scandals

Of holly trampled and

Blood on my sandals

Stuck here right angle to God

I went looking for the riddle but I found the rod

I told the wrong Angel of my great relief

At the thought of finding succor from the blows to my belief stuck saying

God dammit, god dammit all

What’s the point in building towers if you knew that they could fall

And in the pall of halted obelisks

Seems like everything I do will roll me back to Sisyphus

I’m begging

Don’t fuck it up, fuck it up simply

What a waste on incantations what a waste of time and blood

What a waste on medications and the evil and the good

I'm here searching for safe passage but I don’t know how I can

If the devil’s in the details and the gods are in the plan

And it feels like more than freedom but I know it’s less than hope

Such is my maternal birthright in just learning how to cope

But the innocence and empty sends me back into a child

Sipping Similac and whiskey with the weeping and the wild