Simon Joyner
Simon Joyner
Simon Joyner
Simon Joyner
Simon Joyner
Simon Joyner
Simon Joyner
Simon Joyner
Simon Joyner
Simon Joyner
Simon Joyner
Your lover who flickered in a tea candle suit
On his catholic knees, a grape skin on his tooth
Begged the priest who baptized him to hold out hope
While shoving a letter of ransom into a gold envelope
And the past seems so clear once you know how it ends
You have nothing to fear‚ it nearly always begins
I woke up with the tongue of a child
I woke up with a child’s tongue
Now everything I say may be coming out wild
But I wouldn’t say it’s coming out wrong
Until you’ve been burned in effigy‚ you really haven’t lived
Sometimes the exiled must say they have learned to forgive
But if the Wolfe howls just because he can’t go home again
Let the full moon coax another egg down the drain
While all we little pigeons made out of clay
Will be flying to pieces the same old fashioned way
I woke up with the tongue of a child
I woke up with a child’s tongue
Now everything I say may be coming out wild
But I wouldn’t say it’s coming out wrong
Your anger has begun to make sense to me
Nature abhors a vacuum‚ adores a mystery
And now that there’s ink on your breath and bile in this pen
Shall we drink to my death or kill one just for him?
And everything looks clean when you stand back so far
A swallowtail shredding its wings against the sides of this jar
I woke up with the tongue of a child
I woke up with a child’s tongue
Now everything I say may be coming out wild
But I wouldn’t say it’s coming out wrong