Did she ever make it out of Dawson?
The place where dreams come to die.
She hates that town,
it’s just the safest place to drown.
Did she make it out of Dawson?
I remember her as a lady:
innocent precious one.
The gallows called,
she sold her love for gold
and now she’s sleeping in the daisies.
Hang your head for that lady.
Junk just seemed like the only choice to make.
She’s got that charm
as she’s tying her main vein off
and she tastes just like a craving.
She bought a ticket on a greyhound.
No one knew where she was bound:
a place up north
where the cold winds feel like home
so her lungs could do some failing
They found her out in a field
feeding flowers with her blood:
they breathe her death,
that sweet smell of success,
a broken heart no longer beating.
Hang your head for that lady.
Her body gave up long before today.
She’s headed now
to a place up in the clouds
where nobody knows what pain is.
Afrofuturist punk from Philly that twists the hardcore sounds of '90s DC and San Diego into a seething mass of wires and roots. Bandcamp New & Notable Sep 3, 2019