Talking Is Dead

Download Journey_to_the_Bottom_of_the_Dresser.mp3 When stuck one night for a song topic, I reached out onto the early interwebs (this was the 90s after all) and asked a friend for an idea. Their response was "fashion". The following was written from that spark.Journey to the Bottom of the DresserA jury of my peers strung a wire through my neckand hung me from the gallow’s pole behind the death camp’s folding door.The musty smell pervaded through my skin and overwhelmedall senses left remaining, slowly fading, slipped down to the floor.Ostensibly motionless dust gathers high on my remainsenshrined beneath the refuse.  I must wait an endless dayDenied the rite and ritual prescribed to those that left me here.I hearken to nostalgic times in purple haze - the glory years.I am a cotton blend, ¾ sleeved, technicolour concert shirt.My arms are white, my torso black, with tour dates on the back.I’ve smelled like weed for fifteen ye