1. |
I Wash My Hands
02:32
|
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|
Caught in a lie
like a light in the sky.
Yielding to gravity's will.
My heart it has swelled
and like mercury held,
will only gone get you ill.
Promises of poetry
are not made by sober man.
My tongue is dull, my pen is full.
I get up to wash my hands, i wash my hands.
The door has been cracked and the closet is stacked
with tissues and Faberge dolls.
I'm a confidence man in a garbage can
going over Niagara Falls.
Put my faith and all my shit
into a new area code.
My bill fold is getting thick but you'll help me lighten my load, help me lighten my load
A many a mornin' we might function as something that lasts.
And without a warning we could be become a thing of the past.
|
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2. |
Ninja Turtles (2.0)
02:36
|
|||
|
I know that you're expecting some lonesome tune
about my heart breaking from a girl that looks a little like you.
But my heart's gone chapped like a river, just south of Flagstaff, Arizona in mid-December.
And there's better things to sing about, more than what I have or what I want.
I'm content living in the cold.
It feels better getting chilled to the bone.
I'd rather ride my bike alone, then worry about anything, anyone, something or someone else.
I'm going to sit at Carson Beach and look for bottles,
with a message scribbled in the center or the middle
and the words make no sense, its just a riddle
but its something for me to fix.
And I'm sitting here blankly,
hoping for words to form themselves
but this anxiety, thats grabbed my body, thats left me rotting.
|
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3. |
Private Lightening
03:07
|
|||
|
Underneath this dome all the color's bent
There's a rapture looming, there's a message to be sent
Cut away the plaster, show the overgrown and grey
Tried to walk a line but there was something in the way
Saturday is lingering, a heart still up its sleeve
Stars are all receding having heard the cue to leave
Who will be a pioneer, take flight or cut and run?
Throw their hands up skyward and proclaim what's done is done
What's done is done
Wilson's gonna die...
|
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4. |
Real Politic
02:28
|
|||
|
Some call me a pessimist
I'll call myself more of a realist.
Yes, I do believe in Jesus, but I don't think he could free us.
Rely on collective security
to maintain ethnic purity.
The delegates speak so eloquently as if the bones of the dead would wake.
The ambassador has nightmares
of bony fingers in his nose.
While the skeletons riot the streets, and their ribs stick out of their clothes.
Our leaders are just tyrants, who only pray to God and the Dollar.
The need for self preservation as the world seems suddenly smaller.
So stick those paper back texts and shove them up your ass.
Sell them back to the state, they'll charge higher, stealing more poor students cash.
And if you know your history, all great empires have to collapse.
Don't you know all great things must wither to trash?
|
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5. |
Rattler Tree'd A Possum
03:42
|
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|
rattler tree'd a possum.
rattler tree'd a possum.
rattler tree'd a possum.
up the cinnamon tree.
|
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