Cellophane - Emily Rose

The night wears the sky like a leather coat

Hooligans hide in her pockets

Society swallows a sedative

Afraid of their dreams

Rhythm gives lovers a purpose

While being reduced to a slave of the tongue

Dying a little synchronically

A futile attempt to stay young

We are all bankrupt and on the bench

Bathing in feces, denying the stench

Buying the box, just for the cellophane

Blue pages, bird cages, bowling pins

By-products of discipline

When love comes to tickle your forehead

Thoughts melt like snow

We’re far from the fire

But primal patterns hard wired

Shedding the fur of our ancestors took us so long

We are all bankrupt and on the bench

Bathing in feces, denying the stench

Buying the box, just for the cellophane