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lyrics

There's molasses dripping down the walls

I run my hands up and down the halls

It doesn't matter, I can't find you at all

And there's molasses dripping down the walls



This is the ache of words written on the bone

Black ink scratching history on it's new home

I pulled apart every drawer, still it seems that you've gone

And this is the ache of words written on the bone



These are my hands stitching my heart to my sleeve

It's ill-advised I know, still I can't ignore the need

I took the needle, you pulled yourself close to me

And these are my own hands stitching my heart to my sleeve

credits

from We Are Warm, Young, Blood, released July 31, 2020
The prophets are:
Megan Coleman - Drums
Chris Murphy - Bass
Andrew Collins - Guitar
Ryan Stubbs - Guitar
Kat Jones - Guitar, Vocals

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Kat Jones Nashville, Tennessee

Once in every while an artist comes around that is seemingly as fresh, bright, and delicious as an apple picked right off the tree. Void of any obvious imperfection, unmarred by worm holes or lack of sunlight, the apple materializes with such beauty and vitality that one cannot suppress the urge to taste.
This apple is Kat Jones taste, you must.

By Jocelyn Towes
... more

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