1. |
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I Can Feel the Daisies Growing Over Me
Do you feel this way
I don’t feel so safe these days
I’ve been around long enough to notice you
Why does this feel so strange
You have been here before
You know this game
Do you know my name?
I don’t know what I did last night
Do you too
If you could smile and share a few stories
About those nights
All my friends are gone these days
Some are dead
Told a lie so I wouldn’t stay
I’m tired today
In the end you’ve got no one
Save a round
Your words are weak
No ones left
For you
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2. |
Poet Among Painters
03:49
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Poet Among Painters
Still cut my beer with my breakfast
Sold a chair I made from dead wood
Adorn the eyes of witness
Proclivities come to be numb
Bright eyes weighed down by sad fatigue
A friend in need is a friend indeed
Cut holes in the arms of cathedrals
Slit eyes with a weightless confide
Look out the coffees hot and then there’s
Certain to be time to be lost in
Unnecessary for you to go into the details of my fate
Ill ask the questions though I’ve got a lot to say that’s not for you
I’m through and through
Say look at how my feet are brown from playing in the dirt all day
I’ll try to smile but I’m hard to look at in the afternoon
Or so you would say to me
Cracks in my story give me away
I’m at a loss for hollow words to say to you
Cut fingers from the eyes that feed you
Complained attention seekers
Burned cherries between our arms
And when we awake to the sunlight between us
Ill paint it silver for you ought to have some cash to go along the avenue
Before the evening comes around again for you
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3. |
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The Sadness Will Last Forever
There’s a portraiture about your face
Reminds me I used to be such a storyteller
But now I’m sitting here wondering/waiting when you’re coming home
I used to be bad, but now I’m fine
I’m watched over in time
Can you hear the whispers?
I’m a fool for knowing what you’d say
It could only happen this way
I can feel the door starting to open
My wife will miss me
Yellow, I can hear your voice.
I’m not gone.
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4. |
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The Cost of Empty Bottles
I’m trying something new today
I have seen what it takes
And maybe I’m reflecting all these things on my friends
That’s not what I want to be again
Don’t feel guilty I’m a fool for acting out in so many ways
But you wouldn’t smile if you had to look back
The stories that I can’t recall are more revealing
Than anything I’d say or do to you when sober
You are my friend in a way
You’d say that I’m the worst you’ve met
You’ll always see these bloodshot eyes
Hiding behind tired lines
Don’t smile when you’re nervous
It makes me feel subconscious
I will tell a joke in poor taste and I will curse too much
Here I am causing a scene again
Tap the fingers of the keys until they bleed
Laughter is poisonous and I am struggling to breathe the air
The water’s so salty in my hair
You were my friend
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5. |
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Applaud, Friends, the Comedy is Finished
I’ve had too much to drink
In my pocket I’ve got God
And he’s smiling cause he used to be a woman
Then it changed his mind
And now she is a he
And I’m dreaming of a time when my water is engendered
And I’m ensnared in my faith
There’s no chance to be real I’m walking on glass
Without shoes and it shows
And I’m trying to be real,
but I couldn’t crawl anymore
And I’m watching the faces always staring at me
And calling their names
Asking me if I’ll be back again for our Sundays
And I’d rather share a drink with the beach
And I look down at my dog
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6. |
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Lavender Lips of Glass Hammers
If I rest for a moment near The Equestrian
pausing for a liver sausage sandwich in the Mayflower Shoppe,
that angel seems to be leading the horse into Bergdorf's
and I am naked as a tablecloth, my nerves humming.
Close to the fear of war and the stars which have disappeared.
I have in my hands only 35c, it's so meaningless to eat!
and gusts of water spray over the basins of leaves
like the hammers of a glass pianoforte. If I seem to you
to have lavender lips under the leaves of the world,
I must tighten my belt.
It's like a locomotive on the march, the season
of distress and clarity
My door is open to the evenings of midwinter's
lightly falling snow
Clasp me in your handkerchief like a tear, trumpet
of early afternoon! in the foggy autumn.
As they're putting up the Christmas trees on Park Avenue
I shall see my daydreams walking by with dogs in blankets,
put to some use before all those coloured lights come on!
But no more fountains and no more rain,
and the stores stay open terribly late.
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Mr. Foxx Chula Vista, California
Brian R. Strauss.
Founder of Foxx Press.
Guitarist and singer for Of
Ennui.
I have a hard time sticking to one genre, but it generally boils down to Doom, Ambient, and occasionally some folk.
Ok thanks!
Contact at brian.rstrauss@gmail.com
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