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Just the power of indecision, |
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You're riddled with shame. |
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If you leave your home number I will send you the blame. |
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The teeth in the cupboard ward away all bad luck, |
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Deep within Willamette Mountain. |
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A sheepskin for winter, |
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And a tin can for rain. |
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I could cut you fresh ginger if you say that you're staying. |
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I got a million more stories, and only half aren't true, |
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Here inside Willamette Mountain. |
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Well, I am not real, for you I feel, |
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For you I feel when the morning comes. |
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I am not real, for you I feel, |
|
For you I feel when the morning comes. |
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Please be cautious, my loved one, |
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The collar round your neck might not lead you to water, |
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But to prison instead. |
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You have four paths to choose from, |
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And only three will confuse. |
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The last leads to Willamette Mountain. |
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Well, I am not real, for you I feel, |
|
For you I feel when the morning comes. |
|
I am not real, for you I feel, |
|
For you I feel when the morning comes. |
|
Hurry and write down your feelings, |
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Hesitation means death. |
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Pickle all of your wrinklings, |
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Bottle every last breath for your mind will betray you, |
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And say your memory is false, |
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Underneath the sheets in Willamette Mountain. |
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Conjure all of your demons, |
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Try and make peace with the pain, |
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To ignore and neglect will make you bitter and stained. |
|
You're a creature of comfort, |
|
Your body gives way, |
|
To the spirits in Willamette Mountain. |
|
Well, I am not real, for you I feel, |
|
For you I feel when the morning comes. |
|
I am not real, for you I feel, |
|
For you I feel when the morning comes. |
|
For you I feel when the morning comes. |
