St. Saitta

Dream journal reads like a dime-store cosmic horror
Reviews are pouring in, it’s an insult to the genre
You left to star in your own spinoff, just to ditch the melodrama
Well there goes the fucking saga

So long and thanks for all the watercolor bruises
If there’s a plot I'm sure you’ll find a way to lose it
So long and thanks for leaving gardens in the graveyard
I don’t think they’re gonna recast your part

Sleep talking about the forties and the fascists
Your yearbook’s tinged with off-color jokes about the axis
You could be killing all the standards but you’re always out of practice
Hey look a brand new brand of sadness

So long and thanks for all the watercolor bruises
If there’s a plot I'm sure you’ll find a way to lose it
So long and thanks for leaving gardens in the graveyard
Kinda hope they don’t recast your part

You were a paper mache parade
And it was always gonna start to rain
But all your colors down the storm drain
Painted all of the monsters afraid

I always knew you’d leave beautiful ruins some day
But I can’t find them on the map of my brain
And I can’t find you on the list of patron saints
Probably because you were born that way

Good thinking taking yourself out of the equation
Was it subtraction or simplification?
So long and thanks for the selective synesthesia
Guess I'll call if I need you