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lyrics

dreamed for the first time in nine days just now
but i still don't know if the ticking sounds behind my left ear
are dripping water or the movements of insects

when i'm getting up to go twist-face versions of fathers
and old lovers come out of the corners to make up an instant in the
periphery.
my mind puts it on the table
and considers the impossibility of it.
by the time i really look at the person they've grown a face of their own
and yes
there was a resemblance
but it's nothing uncanny really

don't worry everything is normal and gleaming with habitude

the back door of the dark house we've been stumbling through
has been shown to not exist.
the hallway behind the kitchen where it should be turns back every time to the living room where you hear a knock on the door.
the knock is always different but its always a secret knock

and every time it's the same person

because at some point in the past the color with people
was in secret handshakes

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about

The Cradle Brooklyn, New York

music of paco cathcart. brooklyn, NY.

for booking/whatever: pkcathcart@yahoo.com or
646 220 3328

i also engineer for other people/bands. hit me up for that analog natural jank.

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