MY HANDS / words by Christopher Walla

If you could see it through lath and plaster walls - from deck, through door, to hall - you’d know this is a call to you, to you.

If I could exit I’d be an angel where I could see, instead of stare. I hate to stare.

I bet I’ll be damned, and I’m sorry that I stole, but I bet I’ll be damned.

My airport weakness: I’m so obsessed with flight. I could leave this town tonight. If my credit was alright, I’m gone.

Did you misread me? I broke that afternoon and fully wrecked my room. I bit my nails all down for you, and my hands have never looked this bad.