Brendan Kelly and the Wandering Birds
dance of the doomed
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I am a poor, tired boy flailing in an airborne grave.
All the tattoos that you gave to me have faded away.
But the rest for the reckless will come someday.
Iâm out of line cuz Iâm out of lines.
Iâm out of lines cuz Iâm out all the time
Swinging from the vine like a damned baboon.
There is a name for the way that I move.
This is the moâfuckin dance of the doomed.
I found your stash letâs go get high.
Letâs go hide out behind this grocery store all night.
One for me. Two for you.
Three and four I secretly do.
Five makes me so sick.
But seven makes this sickness stick
And boy itâs always sticking to me.