the languages of saints
She sings like the fire in her gut has spread to her balls. She begins to creak like a door that needs WD-40. She finds herself wondering what the fuck it all means. She can’t find another route to the grocery store. No matter how many roads she takes through the subdivision she ends up on Route 59. As it were. Don’t mistake calm for sanity. Sometimes freaking the fuck out makes the most sense of all. It was brilliant to pair her with the National except for the fact that she blew them outta the water. Never underestimate the power of a crunchy Harmony or is it a Jazzmaster blaring across the room. When you back your fantastic stage light show with what you’re playing, there’s no one that can stop you.
