Publicist UK - Blood Relative

First you’re born, more tears are still to come.
A mouth of teeth, violence of the tongue.
When baby cries, everybody runs.
There’s a hunger that is never gone.

Tell yourself that you’re good.
Tell yourself that you’re kind.
All the while the moon’s hanging overhead,
takes the blame for the tide.

In the crowd, distance is a dream.
Elbows, throats, the beating of the wings.
Drain the well, lower yourself down.
Mock the sky, the only way to win.

A mouth of teeth, sharpened by the tongue.
Born into hunger, everyone, everyone.
Mount the pavement, make compromise your art.
Bite down on anger.
Swallow up your heart.

Tell yourself that you’re good.
Tell yourself that you’re kind.
All the while the moon’s hanging overhead,
takes the blame for the tide.

All the ways we’re wrong.
All the ways we’re cruel.
We will be released.