Grace comes home drunk
And beats on the door to my gut
I fumble with locks til a wound opens
And she falls in laughing

Honey, I’m home
Honey, I’m home

I wince as she stumbles up my spine
And leaves a trail of bruises on my ribs
I choke on her dancing on my tongue
Where she kicks out a tooth

Honey, I’m home
Honey, I’m home

She smokes her cigarettes inside my head
And blows all the smoke into my eyes
Til one melts a tear and she sighs,
Just what I thought
Another fragile buddha


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In the Press

Davis’s music subtly sneaks religious dialogue into popular culture. Most surprisingly, the music is damn good. (Critics, you can sigh with relief.)

-Miami New Times