Smelling Salt

by Psetta

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From split release "All My Friends Are Ghosts / Psetta" on Music Is The Devil

lyrics

You free
Use me
Grin
A call 1AM
A call 4AM

You baulk at stucco
good you’re eying marble
I call you from the porch
Sit
Stay
Catch

Lay down, I’ll show you how to
Fold
In tight
Elastic
How to hold me so
Ecstatic?

Debase my form for the burden of your need
I press against your need
I leave

You lay cable in the Five Guys
I could phone your friends,
find a few closer to my type
on your time

I tool the echo of your voice
into weapon, into choice
to find
the edge
to mine
the
edge

Sweet voice
Soft
touch
And is it enough?

I pout, avert gaze
I pout, avert
I pout

I smell salt, I see skin
The basin of the back
I collect your kin

I hold salt, I hear skin
The frost becoming dew
Drenched in your kin

I touch salt, I taste skin
You chirp so rude
You chirp so rude

I see salt, I smell skin
I loop from tulips to the fence
Aid, abet your kin

I am salt, I am skin
The basin of the back
You collect your kin

credits

released March 25, 2020

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all rights reserved

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about

Psetta Portland, Maine

The solo project of Portland-based interdisciplinary artist Sam Burnell, Psetta is the product of ceaseless musical and aesthetic curiosity.

His off-brand pop is an amalgam of flavors, textures, and sensations that color a reality in endless conflict with itself.
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