I stow my fetish for human bravery
in the rickety basket on my bike
it's so damn heavy
but I pedal steadily
on down the road
they said'll lead me home
it's paved in midnight
on top of midnight
will my road end
where it began
in a lemonade sunset
on cornfield sea
I'd ask the moon
but it's been muted
by a nocturnal halo
my cherubic blight
made of midnight
making love on a park bench
eros and medusa
moaning cthonic delights
while psyche watches, heart-broken in the bushes
and as I pass by them
I can hear her cry
they're all
made of midnight
when I get back
I'm climbing into bed with you
and kissing your lips until mine go numb
you'll become just an eyeball
and god in your smile
just out of sight
and made of midnight
Crash City Saints are Kalamazoo, Michigan's timeworn torch-bearing shoegazers. Josh Garman is my friend and psychedelic hero. Keep fighting the good fight, brother! UUNO
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