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This is a song about writer's block and losing my ID three times in one year.


The visions won't come back
until we will them to
passively diluted
when the origins pass
it's an active truth
nothing stays sweet
pull hard on your baby teeth
and cry when the root bleeds

Born again, an island at 22
baptized in the sweat of
three clandestine moves
Burn the bad out
wrap your gut in a lover's mouth
doll-eyes do no good now

The right track is dull action
it forges a forward fashion
stored for the winter's passing
but it takes so god damned long
quicker pay comes from dropping the ball
giving in got me nowhere at all
but I'll sleep 'til the sadness gets small

There's no avoiding cracks
until they're all filled in
skinned knees on split concrete
the red pixels calming
it's the broken scheme of a snowy TV
Three brand new ids
in succession embarrassing
for a round of well-whiskey
in succession embarrassing

(When I play this live, I end it with a second lyrical chorus that is:
For a while I was a watching it all
pass me by, working ways just to stall
infinitesimal and decimal small
Coming weekly at punctual two
so someone better can show me the truth
no invader is gnawing the root
It is false, it is topsoil, it stays loose)




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Sam Rockwell Machete Champion Wintersville, Ohio

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