Idlehands The Venetian Hour
My arms are blue from the blood that was left with you.
Can this organ still play?
Find these sheets that are red too.
Cheap rolls don’t cry and you’ve paid for me. We all lie.
Men change for the love and sea.
It wouldn’t matter if she was still married to him, only
if that name was dry.
I’ll stomp my feet to make sure you can eat,
I’ll kill that soldier if it means we can sleep.
My ears can’t take all the words the day brings.
If you don’t want to be here, I assure you I’ll leave.
But who will be dead with me?
Well, lover I’m nineteen let me grieve.
Just let me grieve.
It wouldn’t matter if she was still married to him, only
if that name was dry.
She’s a bandaged dress, I’m a god-like mess.
All other loves and their doves can’t distract from the
fact, that this lust has aroused.
Friction relieves when it wears as I please.
Attend to cousins, that would rush for our shun.
You can’t grab them all. Its not on their call.
You can’t grab them all. Its not on their call.
When I draw up our lists, my shame’s all amiss.
The green iris burns through raven hair. Take your time.
Bandaged dress, god-like mess. Take your time.
