1.Brakes Cut
These cement legs ／ spent all their nights just blacking out the
days ／ with warehouse sex ／ where the echoes moaned and the
shadows dripped with sweat ／ till the confetti drops ／ like
fireworks in vacant parking lots, ／ so when we lit the wick, ／
my whiplash blood was begging me to quit. ／／ But it starts slow
／ with a kiss outside the hospital, ／ the lip-gloss, the neck,
and the undertow, ／ the fresh proud bruise art show. ／／ Then you
got me. I'm glad, but you got me. ／ The knots in my body all
tell me you got me. ／ The fire's out in my matchstick mouth ／
and you got me reeling. ／／ So the brakes are cut now ／ from my
armored car doubt, ／ from all the years ／ that you weren't here.
／ So I spit the taste out ／ of every ghost town ／ and all the
years ／ that I was barely here. ／／ But our bad machines ／ are
rusting out in sleepless violent sheets ／ and freezer-burn ／
where we used to ride those cold chemical cures, ／ and we're
bloodshot, ／ weighing sins against the years that they could
cost ／ to pay off ／ and hide behind our two-way mirror thoughts.
／／ And who we were ／ is coming back to you, ／ and who we were ／
is coming back to me, too. ／／ So I am coming back to you. ／／ And
all at once, ／ oh, you got me. You got me. I'm glad, but you got
me. ／ The knots in my body all tell me you got me. ／ I'm caving
in around your skin ／ and you've got me reeling. ／／ So the
brakes are cut now ／ from my armored car doubt, ／ from all the
years ／ that you weren't here. ／ So I spit the taste out ／ of
every ghost town, ／ yeah, I lost some years, ／ but I'm finally
here, oh, ／ with my brakes cut ／ and my hands cuffed ／ to my bad
thoughts ／ and to yours and your wars, ／ and with our brakes cut
／ and our hands cuffed ／ to my bad thoughts ／ and to yours and
our wars.
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