Icthyomania

from by Tomber Lever

/

lyrics

Seaside envy stare, peppered by the salted air.

Milt. Ova. Spawn. Like the son of Poseidon but done all wrong. No gills just a set of these fucking lungs.

Get a load of this shit.
The belts the clamps they could find couldn't keep this apparatus air tight. Live beneath the tide despite the pressure.

Coral Grave not a name but a slave to the bottom.

All pregnant silence, save for a trickle.
Feel the scales on my skin, life just begans.
So much, so many, so fast. Part of the swarm at last.

credits

from Furniture Pedagogue, released January 7, 2017

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Tomber Lever Pomona, California

Tribe of sneaky experiments.

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