When it got cold you bundled up, in your dad's coat
And asked me for a light
We would lay where the kids would play
Early Monday morning
After your coffee, You stained my skin
With ash and red lipstick
We wandered round, in places
We had no business being
Well the loss
of innocence
Is hard to watch
Knowing it your fault
I feel the guilt
I feel the guilt
I feel the guilt
Was it my toxicity
Or the cigarettes
That gave you your black soul
I guess the winter,
Finally got to you
Cause you turned cold
Honey you turned cold
Well the loss
of innocence
Is hard to watch
Knowing it's your fault
I feel the blame
I feel the blame
I feel the blame
Creeping in
I feel the blame
Under my skin
You used to tell me
I was the only boy
You'd ever loved
But now I'm known
As the boy who
Ripped up the art museum
The boy with poison in his throat
The boy with poison in his throat
The boy with poison in his throat
The boy with poison in his throat
I can't even string together the words to express how significant this record is. This has shaped me in ways I can't explain with words. Andy Hull is incredible. Clark Williams
The Alabama duo's fifth album exults in dusty Americana, showcasing rich vocal harmonies alongside blissful folk instrumentation. Bandcamp New & Notable Mar 31, 2024
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