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I want to know where the summer ends. September came with oceans between words and sleep. September shed its skin of still hush, patient hands. Young men Edmonton bound with young wives Edmonton bound. Head pressed against her chest, bottles grow in the dirt and rest between your ribs still I toss and turn at night in a winter bed while dreamcatchers spun in twine spin above my bed. You've been writing out the past couple hundred years for the middle class about the god you found beneath your sheets, how she never could hold her drink. I won't write a thing for you. And now I see you in the places I don't believe exist and can not face yet, can't accept. Its something like the cold, uncatching words we use to read to one another. October came in dingy scarfs, black shades, gloves under beds with boyhood dreams, a razor blade drug in unsure lines after missing mass again and feeling fine. A rising fear of the afterlife, a growing knot in my spine from slouching towards recluse keep me awake at night. Do you hear a still small voice or catching nothingness when you pray for –––? Head clasped between my knees the night before is pushing through my throat and down onto the floor. While you're somewhere in between the warmth and frigid depth of his mind and heart. November came and I never woke, let me clarify, I tried to wake but voices in my head said stay asleep. Do you hear them too? And now I see you in the places I don't believe exist and can not face yet, can't accept. It’s something like the cold, uncatching words we use to read to one another. We jumped a fence only to find that home wasn't close at all. Our bodies became space-lost-ships like cosmonauts drunk and alone. From here it seems we're doing fine. From here it seems we're never coming home again. I'll be there when you break and when you're crumbling, when you crack, fall apart, don't tell me you're ok. And now I see you in the places I don't believe exist as the winter Earth spins on it's side, hands under gloves cupped under heavy eyes. Its something like the cold, uncatching words we use to read to one another. December came without snow and the acute absence of me and you. And now I see you, now I understand. December became disingenuous the day you were born.

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from I've Been Thinking About Leaving You, released January 17, 2012

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Pure Noise Records Nashville, Tennessee

Independent record label since 2009.

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