sunset in El Quebrados

scream yourself to sleep, my little angel

i think it all tastes pretty much the same

like hundred proof and flavor country

and going down

i'm better like hardwood on bare toes

sofa fell into forever like you couldn't touch bottom

no, you couldn't touch bottom

but you got what you wished for with your bargain bin wishes

and i was lukewarm water

and you were answers and questions

unhealthy structures like the older jazz notes

i hear them in the background while you stare outside

how you lie there... away

incredible in the silence, impenetrable in the sweet hereafter

let my voice be my fingertips

tracing M.C. Escher lithographs on your backbone, baby

your backbone, baby, and it shivers and glides

in time to the beat in my mind if you don't mind

or the random iPod track that just find the moment

and make it forever engraved

on the inside of eyelids, you little sunspot, you