Music

tie me to my bones, my skin is not of stone. my skin is not of stone.

-Fragile Line (Hummingbird)

i’d find an image where the color shapes the night, and hang it like philosophy framing words from all the times that going got tough, and hope was hard to find.

-Could We Celebrate? (Hummingbird)

there’s a space in the needle, and i was scared to believe that the walls of a building could fall into me, and washed through my blood, and it poured through my veins, and my skin is reminded of Seattle rain.

-Seattle (Hummingbird)

would you read me like an x-ray, with bones arranged by piece, and forgive the fractured headache, cause its walls are incomplete?

-Barefoot (Hummingbird)