You found the vhs encased in the ribcage of a violin sweating symphonies like a joke.
You left it there to rewind and reminisce, softly running a blue screen background hiss.
You keep it there, safe to never die. You look it over from time to time.
Now it's Dirt Christmas coming into town like a campaign, foaming out of their mouths with champagne
Getting sad with Parafamilia
Ornaments hanging from the ceiling
Like question marks, asking outloud
is there anything unconditional, now?
Getting sad with Parafamilia.
Polaroids flash memorabilia.
Basking by the infinite incandescence.
How are we gonna keep this family apart?
We'll pass a law!
Wrapped up in nostalgic adolescence.
What is the color of broken heart?
A passive gnaw.
How will we trade these words with each other, if at all?