Waxahatchee The Dirt
Loaded, you'll eulogize before you will preach
Rubbing your filthy hands on my speech
My hedonistic sugar-white beach
And the grievance that I breed
If I fill you with fiction that won't hurt
Will you eat up my words with the dirt?
Outside in my inept hands or my active eyes
I'll use the oxygen in this room
To call everyone I know and unhinge
Disrupt neutrality
You'll deliver a fable I could live
And I'll throw it off the nearest cliff
Long since I was as empty as a young child
Hope lying in prospect
I wasted my boredom hastily
I'm a basement brimming with nothing great
