lovin' this.

imogen heap, that is.

first train home
bodies disengage, our mouths are fleshing over
as hiss and echo gain, irises retreat into ovals of white
the urge to feel your face, in blood, rushing to paint my handprint
and frisbee one by one; your vinyl on laminate, i'm desperate for some kind of contact

first train home, i've got to get on it
(to catch, to catch, to catch-catch)
first train home

temporal dead zone where clocks are barely breathing
yet no one cares to notice for all their yamming on, i clam up to hold it together
i want to play-do waveforms in the hideaway
i want to get on with getting on with things
i want to run in fields, paint the kitchen, love someone
but i can't do any of that here, can i?

first train home, i've got to get on it

so what? you've had one to many
so what? i'm not that much fun to be with
so what? you've got a silly hat on
so what? i didn't want to come here anyway

what matters to you, doesn't matter to me
what matters to me, doesn't matter to you
what matters to you, doesn't matter to them
what matters to them, doesn't change anything

got to get on it
first train home

(i have this on repeat)
and i'm real excited for nov 17 (!!!)