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lyrics

I fell into the nearest trap
White knuckles and a Cadillac
Eleven years since I made that call
We never talk or hang at all

Will I be judged by someone else
When I grow old will I still be myself
Or leave this behind me
Nothing to remind me
I sold you out
What was that all about

If not my face, look to attire
This fabric frames the heart of a liar
I smoothed it over, I'm calculated
The smashing of mirrors, the music of the hated

Can I be judged by someone else
When I grow old will I still be myself
Or leave this behind me
Nothing to remind me
I sold you out
What was that all about

Eleven years since we played that game
It doesn't fade, it feels the same
Eleven years since I made that call
We never talk or hang at all

credits

from Our Man Of Texture, released May 1, 2020

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Jon Telegraph San Francisco, California

Music school dropouts, and music school graduates and musical theater percussionists, but really just a group of mischievous musicians. Jon Telegraph loves loud music and Jon Telegraph loves you.

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