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Dead Language

from Imago by Beccy Owen

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lyrics

There’s an old Latin word for the way a horse treads, I can’t bring it to mind, I’m not well enough read, but around him she seems like she walks on her toes, hiding her sorrows and serious woes. She’ll call on her mother to steady her hand, then she’ll pick her own pocket to meet the demands for the copper she’s needing to feed his machine, but the slot’s just a door to an endless ravine. And it’s no way to thrive to be always deprived. His colours aren’t colours, they’re black or they’re white. He’ll sift through her words and go fishing for doubt. He’ll hold her head hard so to meet with his gaze: ‘promise your love means you always must stay’. But it’s no way to go to be held always low. She met him a maiden, she’ll leave him a whore, when the hours sit empty she’ll think of him more, she’ll still hear his low voice and his old bag of tricks that robbed her of hers, though they’ll no longer stick. And it’s no way to be to have no joy and peace, you’ll find your release away from his arms. No it’s not way to grow to be held always low, up away girl and go, away from his arms.

credits

from Imago, released December 9, 2013

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Beccy Owen Whitley Bay, UK

Butter brings me out in ghosts

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