|
My mast ain't so sturdy |
|
My head is at half |
|
I'm searching the clouds for the score |
|
My lady avails herself |
|
Of marked down freedom |
|
Forever cashed out to no more |
|
She put the blam in the blame |
|
Bullets bearing the name |
|
Of each tigress who's left you a tooth |
|
Save the skins for a pelt |
|
And the rest for a belt |
|
That can't open |
|
No nothing |
|
Can't open |
|
No nothing |
|
Young liars |
|
Thank you for taking my hands |
|
Young liars |
|
Oh thank you for taking my hands |
|
Well it's cold and it's quiet |
|
And cobblestone cold in here |
|
Fucking for fear of not wanting |
|
To fear again |
|
Lonely is all we are |
|
Lovely so far |
|
But my heart's still a marble |
|
In an empty jelly jar |
|
Someday suppose that my |
|
Curious nervousness |
|
Spills into prescience |
|
Clairvoyant consciousness |
|
I will be calmer than cream |
|
Making maps out of your dreams |
|
But will psychic ability |
|
Clinch the nativity |
|
Or simply diminish the flinch |
|
Oh young liars |
|
Thank you for taking my hands |
|
And burying them deep |
|
In the world's wet womb |
|
Where no one can heed their commands |
|
Except young liars |
|
Voice string trombone |
|
Pull me forward onward |
|
To the sea |
|
Take my picture |
|
Soon all I will be |
|
Is my disease |
|
Voice string trombone |
|
Pull me forward onward |
|
To the sea |
|
Take my picture |
|
Soon all I will be |
|
Is my disease |