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I'm calling out to all the famous clowns and bums |
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I'm sneakin' out, peakin' in your windows |
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Watchin' you kiss the screen |
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Lovin' them, like I hope they love me |
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I'm calling out to all the famous clowns and bums |
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I'm sneakin' out, peakin' inside your homes |
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Watchin' you, watch them split they seams |
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Lovin' them, like I hope they love me |
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I'm calling out to all the famous clowns and bums |
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I'm sneakin' out, peakin' in your windows |
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Watchin' you kiss the screen |
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Lovin' them, like I hope they love me |
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I'm calling out to all the famous clowns and bums |
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I'm sneakin' out, peepin' in your homes |
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Watchin' you, watch them split they seams |
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Lovin' them, like I hope they love me |
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It's the return of the ghost, the raising of the dead |
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And the cloning approach shadows stick the foot of your bed |
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With windy notes, so fog the window with breath |
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I drag my footprints through your grass and all across your garden |
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I never know just what's to be said |
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It's so close to the wall, the cars will get hit |
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So spell it out in the fog in the window pane |
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Written backwards at your expense for everyone else's gain |
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It's hard tonight but it's comin' in clear |
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You called 'em right? They comin' here |
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They got the couch and he's got the chair |
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I got the flower beds, some sweaty palms, a couple dumb ideas |
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Praying hearts and minds stuck in discovery's fears |
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I've been alive in little bursts |
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It's the little bits of life that hurt |
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The way to write's been across the dirt |
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The sunpots seen behind you work |
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The ball of kindness is shipping the bird |
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Toss in smiling, call him first |
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It covers up the best and hurts the worst |
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The freckles are suddenly painted across your shoulder blades |
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The biggest hit to come across the space |
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The calling and the fall of all who wait |
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The fingerprints and window glass |
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The funny women's superstitious afraid of cats |
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Dumbest feeling, the embarrassment that puts us on our ass |
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Looking back, then moving on |
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The stupid songs, the foolish ones |
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Reminds the signs the brightest lies |
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The Broadway clip that turns the gate |
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Broke hold but don't get close kids |
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Turns out it's understood, it's time to miss |
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I'm calling out to all the famous clowns and bums |
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I'm sneakin' out, peakin' in your windows |
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Watchin' you kiss the screen |
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Lovin' you, like I hope you love me |
|
I'm calling out to all the famous clowns and bums |
|
I'm sneakin' out, peakin' inside your homes |
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Watchin' you, watch them split they seams |
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Lovin' them, like I hope they love me |
|
I'm calling out to all the famous clowns and bums |
|
I'm sneakin' out, peakin' in your windows |
|
I'm calling out to all the famous clowns and bums |
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I'm sneakin' out, peakin' in your windows |
|
I'm calling out to all the famous clowns and bums |
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I'm sneakin' out, peakin' in your windows |
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Watchin' you, watch them split they seams |
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Lovin' them, like I hope they love me |
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The sun came in over on the building |
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Rich and 56 feet below, a Dominican charges path to death run pain stained block |
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While the chief turns on his radio and cracks his steel Reserve |
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I wonder how many of last night's lovers double parked |
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This city swallows men |
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He tells me tales of places that he ran, eventually ran from |
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Never to return again |
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It's funny in luck and love |
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You can never remember the moment that you fell in |
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Or recall when you fell out of touch |
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The city's hushed, keepin' it's secrets |
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The sunshine is gliding, riding, hiding wrinkles and creases, beautiful features |
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Chipped, cracked, crippled and weakened |
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Tragic pageant queen bleeds soft focus, keepin' her even |
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The city's breathing, feel it coming awake |
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Every explanation creates a gray across the sky scrape |
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Like the sky's a looking glass and the fog, the dirty breath left |
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We can etch our dreams and wipe it clean before they see |
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It's city's rushing, picking up a bitter steam |
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The Chief's beat his shift till first sip |
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A malt liquor will bleed to lips |
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He flips a small piece of shit |
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Driver's license, a money clip |
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And shows it off everything equipped |
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With a face like, |
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"Look what I did..." |
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City's up in arms, the Chief is ravin' |
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Sick of taxes, sick of workin' |
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Sick of waitin', sick and tired of what the city's facin' |
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Enlisting ladies chased from the bottom of his history's basement |
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A tomb of her own, a room caked in cobwebs, odd and ends, and vases |
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This city's built ahead of steam, the river shivers steadily |
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The poison boilin' up from beneath the lies and memories |
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I spent the last three months in shambles |
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Drunk on clouds and syphoned stars |
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I shook every palm left-handed |
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Those offered inside the back of a bar |
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Woke in a party with streamers tossed inside my hair |
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My head's been ringin' loud |
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A cigarette burns out inside my left hand |
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And dust the cane and bottle cacophony off of me standing |
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And blow a kiss to my chair |
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Unlock the deadbolt baby, I'm comin' home |
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Or you'll never see my face around here |
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You'll never see my face around here |
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You'll never see my face again |
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The patient changes and takes his place |
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Now I need strength now that all my rap friends have settled down |
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Fingertips and sand pockets put a stone here and |
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All I can come up with the same news is bad news from this old town |
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It's all I have what a beautiful piece of rotten luck |
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You don't own the right to pay for my kisses and backwater dreams |
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So, sneakin' my hands across your shoulder blades |
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Won't you fall into my arms and fall into the eaves |
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And fall asleep while the city grinds its teeth |
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Do the bottle race, hold me fast, boot strap |
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The moves are holding us to the earth |
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With your eyes shut tight, anyone can be king |
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We're in projectors, steal concesssions, like the picture was blurred |
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We face the days that we can't see, we run and we fall |
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We hate this place, but we can't leave, so what do we call it |
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Now it's cornered by the cat's calls and situated walls |
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And the error message says, "You son of a bitch. You hated in love?" |
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Facing the sun centers away from a soft shoe, dreams of tap dance |
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Hangover a headache aversion to civility, turning to beach |
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Arm in arm live in old frames before the kids kiss in |
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Gasoline tombs and cocaine |
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I know it's slow, James, strips malls insane |
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With a fresh coat of paint and more ****ing fast food chains |
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But it's okay, my feet are still fine |
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The suns still burning, blurry lines till I can still see in the sky |
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Leaving me blind, staggering from the scene to the street to the streams |
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that lead to the east to feed the machines that leave us in peace |
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Soon as they receive their load, sing a song of St. Johns |
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And sail alone around the rest of the globe |
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And sail alone doing KNight Rider past your house |
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Start laughing about driving dragons and passing out |
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Private pageants cash and clowns, bursts of laughing out |
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Down and out in the bold new city of the south |
