Open up a window, all the air is falling out
Eyes vacuum up light
Sound gets trapped by the mouth
We’ll deal with the remainder when the dents get hammered out
Then we’ll travel through time
The world’s an inventor with its work crawling, running, squirming ’round
Trees drop colourful fruits directly into our mouths
The world’s an inventor
We’re the dirtiest thing it’s thought about
And we really don’t mind
We’ll probably never get there
Bring your sight seers school teachers down
It’s a watercolour weekend
All the trees are turning colours now
We’ll probably never get there
Bring your candy taster, time wasters around
And we’ll fuck with their minds
The world composes with its shirttails wrinkled, hanging out
Bang us together, see what sort of sounds we make right now
The world plays music, playing skin on teeth inside of the mouth
What sort of sounds?
What lovely sounds come about?
We’re gonna throw a party
All the ghosts of trees are coming out
Don’t move in any direction
Wait until the light’s inside of the cloud
You’re gonna wanna see this
Don’t bring your camera around
Watch sun and sawdust align
We greased all the ropes
We’ll throw you a line
We’re gonna break these boulders
We’re gonna pull things out
We’re gonna travel time
Our predecessor left this box and something’s clawing around
I think it really wants out
[12015 I Brock, “Strangers to Ourselves“]
NEOplaneteers 