Appointment in Samarra - Paul Thomas Saunders

You have scars on your face from where he left you

Your blue eyes still aren’t dry

Your hands have run through your blonde hair a thousand times

You say you’re going to Samarra

Won’t be back tomorrow

You left a letter on the drawer

Bread winners won’t be baking anymore

I’ve been wondering for awhile

How records in your heart

Pull the Brompton shakes apart

The blood is in your hands

The bodies on the ground around us

Make no future plans

Sever every bound that binds us

That ties us

There is blood on the clothes that you’d once wear for him

Was it worth the lace facade

His hands you still feel round your waist on rainy days

I’ve been wondering for awhile

How records from your past

Make the brief encounters last

The blood is on your hands

The bodies on the ground around us

Make no future plans

Sever every bound that binds us

The blood is on your hands

The bodies on the ground around us

Make no future plans

Sever every bound that binds us

The blood is on your hands

The bodies on the ground

The blood is on your hands

The bodies on the ground

The blood is on your hands

The bodies on the ground around us

Make no future plans

Sever every bound that binds us