Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Find a way under these mountains,
not over, skeletons dot their skyline like toothpicked trees
And The earth will drink us, i promise
Give you as many gang handshakes to make you a believer
Keep that index pointed out bro, it shows we have love

Plot a way under these barricardes, double matted rebar
and the sparks don't scare me anymore mother
The slag goes in your skin and nest there once
And thats all you need to learn and remember the smell
the searing of that feeling

If all these toy trains and their built to scale cities could tumble at the same time
All the little houses burning, their finely painted bushes and shutters peeling back like my eyes, the earth to open it's mouth again so hungry,
the blackness we hunger for in sleep, in wakefullness-
in drunken dance romance to the words behind the music,
that hole, that whole, that encompassing, titillating demon

Erotica don't fail me know, all your ropes have worn through and nothing holding me here but tired bones, leaded muscle and drooping viens
Make a harp of this body God,
already wittled the holes for notes, for your breath to pass through
Make a step of this body, bottom or top, buried or foundation, just of use
something of use

Some powerful images here and emotions here.

The last verse in particular hits hard

"Erotica don't fail me know, all your ropes have worn through and nothing holding me here but tired bones, leaded muscle and drooping viens
Make a harp of this body God,
already wittled the holes for notes, for your breath to pass through
Make a step of this body, bottom or top, buried or foundation, just of use
something of use"

Nick .... it's a joy to read you again.

I love this...

And The earth will drink us, i promise
Give you as many gang handshakes to make you a believer
Keep that index pointed out bro, it shows we have love

and

If all these toy trains and their built to scale cities could tumble at the same time
All the little houses burning, their finely painted bushes and shutters peeling back like my eyes, the earth to open it's mouth again so hungry,
the blackness we hunger for in sleep, in wakefullness-
in drunken dance romance to the words behind the music,
that hole, that whole, that encompassing, titillating demon

Are you Whitman?

Make a harp of this body God,
already wittled the holes for notes, for your breath to pass through

GREAT lines there!

Nice one, Nick and it's good to see you limbering up the old typewriter

and you too, Brian

good to see you both in the Studio