Bluegreen
I fell from the vine, flesh hard and underripe
Bitter fruit swept off too soon, the garden's bizarre prototype
I experienced my creator in the form of a record skip
She told me she was sorry that she couldn't take authorship
For the songs on the record
As it spins, music escapes my mouth like a phonograph's pavilion, crank my manivelle
I've built a house whose foundation can lift me off the turntable and I'm spinning
Levitate into space like a UFO, build up the underpinning as
Dust constellates the forms, I am in tune with my corridors
(I am in tune with my corridors)
Remember the windows to look out
I am the sound that lofts
I am the hypothetical house
See me drift through space
Writer/s: Total Wife
