Grip — Jawbox

Wreck rebirth, The broken-bottled dregs unneeded for conviction anymore. Median castaway, the faded green's allure. Played enough at climbing from my concrete island home; forgotten what those broken legs were for.

I'll leave behind the tyranny of signs, transparent things you hold on to. I know what's mine, a greying field of sky, and in whose grip I lie.

Pain no less, blackout caresses, encroaching green, forgotten what my failing eyes had seen?€“ once so excessive, now so lean.