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Reservation Blankets

from The Recordings Of​.​.​. by Sun Brother

/

lyrics

If the thoughts of me met the thoughts of them,
They'd probably end up all being friends.
Though the rift of clothes and friends and bones
Refuse to melt to molten, syrupped drones.

I dragged a rusted muffler and I matched its
Broken audio to the sound of the stereo.

In this house, we all sleep with reservation blankets,
in the stitchin’ that has started fraying.
Was anything really innocent?
Or did I grow out of how I remembered it?

I'm headed out of this house with
Destinations and ancient fascinations.
And I'll take our map and consider it
Any time I'm plotting new coordinates.

But I turned around and saw yours on the ground
With all the locations blotted out.

So, when did you become a mapmaker?
And when did you become a metaphor?

credits

from The Recordings Of​.​.​., released August 29, 2012

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Christian Lyon Chicago, Illinois

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