Lapochka

How long must I wait, how long must I wait
‘Til the mountains of avarice turn blue?
How long must I wait, how long must I wait
‘Til the moleskin I pick becomes fuse?

Avulsion limps its spurs in the pinches of my earth
The dust I kick from animus shatters
Recorded on my reels of tape, the trauma stops my flow
And in your suppression tastes sulfur

Hear the children say
Tear of mended sails

How long must I wait, how long must I wait
‘Til the mountains of avarice turn blue?
How long must I wait, how long must I wait
‘Til the moleskin I pick becomes fuse?

As if suddenly your avalanche reverses my polarity
And secretly come Sunday morning
Standing at the pulpit to an empty room

Hear the children say
Tear of mended sails

How long must I wait, how long must I wait
‘Til the mountains of avarice turn blue?
How long must I wait, how long must I wait
‘Til the moleskin I pick becomes fuse?

The drowning water you drink passed on by birth
I’m no longer willing to give you control
Water you drink passed on by birth
I’m no longer willing to give you control