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White Homes

de Tilt

White frame lies to live in leave, nothing to gain, your colorless
divinities can scarcely light the way, white frame homes in celibate
rows, they swell and melt together, aspirations lie in possesions each
swellers dream so similar. Keep witches behind, mythical lines, and
squeeze my faith between my knees, I can't take one more lie, so I'll
take one of each. In this static heat, I barely make my home suffice,
persuaded by a sleepy beat, I can't tell which is mine. Pack it in, save
it up, pack it in, save it up. In this static heat, I barely make my
home suffice, persuaded by a sleepy beat, I can't tell which is mine,
Impeded by machine, awash in blue light spending nights, imbibing life
through their screen, it shows me to believe.

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