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(a) i play dead (b) return rewound

from the cut​-​ups of a paper woman by Brad Hamers

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lyrics

i play dead

i played dead and she bought two tickets to see the performance
a stomach full of black and white butterflies
a bankrupt kissing booth boarded up and spray painted with: i love so and so
dated - dinner two nights ago - we made out on a couch and i made out with three dollars in
quarters when the sky has an oil spill i rush to save the plants in my head
that need sunlight to live
built my own sun under a lampshade my own identity under a name
and each day i convince myself that i can drown in a glass of water
strapped with a plastic machine gun and a pocket full of quarters
throwing change at a waitress she plays a tray with two plates and does rounds with a
tip hat table one needs more conversation table two needs more honesty
and i chase the bus boy down to the next stop for some more water

i played dead and she saved the playbill for her refrigerator

the jam session in my chest lost the drummer and all its sense of harmony
spoons and knives singing together in a chorus line
tables throwing up their legs and dancing out from underneath us
the world goes by outside like rush hour traffic with headphones on
watching an argument from a window
the moon pulling the sun’s hair out and its dark
lit rooms fire wearing vanilla perfume climbing the knotted wick in gym class for credit with the
date i picked up at noon
i wore a life vest and a clip on tie to the first lunch date
my drink was poured overboard my eyes lost patience and wouldn’t sit still my mouth opened its doors
at entrees the band went on but never played a tune last call at the bar was made collect for a
taxi and silence tastes like twelve dollar plates with a fork that sweeps up after everyone leaves

i played dead and she wrote a critical review on my part

man inside a trumpet woman in a kettle drum
i beat the thoughts out of her and she blows me off
loud heaters and air conditioners with a nasal drip
off beat floorboards and unconventional ovens wanting to skip dinner
to play the radio in a closet with speakers that have a slurring problem
i match my heartbeat to the snares and let my thoughts blend together
like overlapping summer with love and sun tanning in a wool jacket

brought a guitar that doesn’t work out to dinner and watched her get smashed
on wine and vodka sauce mute television battery remote died broke speaker
popped ear drum never hit expectation thrown off a ledge like falling from a high note
singing into an unplugged microphone we sat in silence

i played dead and she never clapped for my performance

same conversation different plate of food
we held a funeral for dead air and rung our eyes out like sponges over the clothes lines
like dirty laundry for sale love took off its hat and asked for a donation
hugging memories to death and burying them in the basement
i keep a cup to the table and hope to hear vibrations but her voice box is still taped up and
i’ve been throwing coal in her train of thought since we bought the two tickets to sit and talk but
response never arrived i waited at the station it’s grub for thinking and hunger for conversation
sinking in the hourglass quicksand out of my mind but left the alarm on
knowledge is the spare key i keep in under a rug next to a jack and this engine breaks down quite
often two advil and a scenery change every three thousand thoughts warrantee package never
delivered i live in my car and we drive to dinner in my bedroom sit across from each other
and listen the other people’s stories about nothing

i played dead and she left me rotting in her bedroom with no funeral

i was the dead man’s float for her parade rain marched across the pavement
and the band forgot to bring their instruments a concert without music
our dinner without talk
i eat across from her every night and hope that i’ll drown in the next refill of water

i was the dead man’s float for her parade rain marched across the pavement
and the band forgot to bring their instruments a concert without music
our dinner without talk
i eat across from her every night and
i play dead




return rewound

we’ve been meeting in the library twice a week
sitting next to each other - reading
at the same time
but still have yet to speak
i’ll remember this book forever
even if it ends up
bad

credits

from the cut​-​ups of a paper woman, released January 1, 2005
written by brad hamers
(pt. A) produced by nobs (pt. B) produced by Brad

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brad hamers Portland, Oregon

writer, music-maker, collage-maker,, performance-maker, loud dreamer, mental gymnast

(member of: Through Flames, Child Of No Nation, Cat Child, Dust On Snow, Two Ton Sloth, Phlegm and Al Límite Collective)

Artist at Shrine13

www.bradhamers.com ... more

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