Time's a crooked bow, oh, ooh Fifty-five and three-eighths years later At the bottom of this gigantic crater An armchair calls to you Yeah, this armchair
And when our mouths are filled with uninvited tongues of others And the strays are pining for their unrequited mothers Milk that sours is promptly spat
Born host to a tongue so sing a song about it Held a breath for too long till we're half sick about it Tell us what we did wrong, then you can blame us
His keeping busier as bitter storms His imaginations and his palindromes It was anything but hear the voice Anything but hear the voice It was anything
Two stars are missing me Jet waves are driving me Things in nicer motions We are hauling to space G force is twisting the faith with superstition A fatal
When I was just a little boy I threw away all of my action toys While I became obsessed with Operation With hearts and minds and certain glands You gotta
Five day forecast bring black tall rains and hellfire While handpicked tenderness kid gloves tear at the inseam Their Halliburton Attache cases are useless
Some people wake up on Monday mornings Barring maelstroms and red flare warnings With no explosions and no surprises Perform a series of exercises Hold
The finches and sparrows build nests in my chimney What remains of the small flightless birds that you failed to protect But the yoke isn?t easy, in fact
This isn't your song, this isn't your music How can there be wrong, when by committee They choose it all, they choose it all You're gonna grow old, you
s a crooked bow time?s a crooked bow fifty-five and three?eighths years later at the bottom of this gigantic crater and armchair calls to you yeah this armchair
when our mouths are filled with uninvited tongues of others and the strays are pining for their unrequited mothers milk that sours is promptly spat light
turnstiles on mezzanine jet ways and Dramamine fiends and x-ray machines you were hurling through space g-forces twisting your face breeding superstition
bored holes through our tongues to sing a song about it held our breath for too long ?til we?re half sick about it tell us what we did wrong and you
he's keeping busy yeah he's bleeding stones with his machinations and his palindromes it was anything but hear the voice that says that we're all basically
When I was just a little boy I threw away all of my action toys While a I became obsessed with Operation With hearts and minds and certain glands You
five day forecast bring black tar rains and hellfire while handpicked handler's kid gloves tear at the inseams their Halliburton attache cases are useless
this isn?t your song this isn?t your music how can they be wrong when by committee they choose it all? they choose it all chin chin chin chin you?re
