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MONEY IN THE AFTERLIFE (7”)
Ernest Jenning Record Company, January 13, 2007

Money In The Afterlife
(see also: Money In The Afterlife)

What will we do with all these words when we die?
Will they spend like currency in our afterlife?
Always waiting on a world that will never come
Always standing in line
Sinking feelings, inexplicably
But always leaning towards some sort of light
So where are we going
And how does it feel where we are now
With all our sentimental songs siphoning out?
What will we do with all the time we’ll have once we die?
Will we trade our memories,
Change all the endings,
Revise what was each other’s lives?
I’ll haunt the house you dreamed about
But you never saw the inside
I’ll sing in your voice
And you could sing in mine
So where are we going
And how does it feel where we are now
With all our faculties like rooms emptying out?
With the tethering stress of the breath in our lungs
And the sounds of the women and the men
And the endless undone-ness of everyone
And this sense that nothing is over and nothing’s begun yet.
All The Sidewalk Birds

You won’t see that trap
When all the synapses collapse
And when your body is a map
Dotted with perforated lines
And all the sidewalk birds
Recite the words that lured them off to their graves
And incantation sayed before the blood on the pavement dried
And you won’t win that fight holding your hands over your eyes
And no one’s coming back to life
No matter how many hours we talk
Cause no one ever died
No alignment was designed after all
To re-arrange our language in the space between sky and walls
So it don’t mean anything now
Just bubbles of sound
Constantly multiplying and dividing
I don’t know what I’m talking about
But the voice in my mouth tastes like lightning
Who won the last fight?
Whose bayonet’s and bullets flied?
And who was gone before the night evaporated into the dawn?
And when the day arrived,
Who was the final one to die for the cause?
An organization between your limitlessness and loss
How could it mean anything now?
The things you keep talking about
The makeshift amount that you’re emptying out
When everyone knows that you’re lying
Anyone could tell that you’re lying.

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