Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Rifle Eyes, artist - cLOUDDEAD. Date of issue: 08.03.2004
Song language: English
Rifle Eyes |
| A murder of mosquitoes, and moths, and gnats |
| Ravage the florescent flickering ribs of a motel lot flood light |
| Their frantic trajectories perfectly sketching insane in it’s halogen corona |
| No collision… no drinking of bulbs at long last… |
| Just a panicked moon drove dance they bang their insect eyes and mind at in the |
| dark |
| Note: it takes an extended stay |
| America’s common black self cleaning line of ants |
| Approximately one and a-two third’s hours to completely excavate |
| The fresh kill carcass of a large New Orleans cricket |
| Point: minnows have teeth in their throats… (x3) |
| Thrice we passed this truck all packed with pigs… |
| This truck is always packed with pigs |
| You can not tell nor ask a pear tree |
| That it might only have the bird’s nests happen to its branches |
| Have you ever marveled through the pretty pith of your turned around eye |
| At the bug blood gut modern art on the fender of your country crossing rental |
| van? |
| It then becomes self evident |
| That nature is responsible… |
| To peel deer from desert fun… |
| To sleep through vulture mouths… |
| Its femur like a chopstick through the paper |
| Nightcrawlers all dried up on the summer sun sidewalk |
| (Nightcrawlers all dried up on the summer sun sidewalk) (x2) |
| An ant with a little bit of leaf looks like an ant with an African mask |
| (Nightcrawlers all dried up on the summer sun sidewalk) |
| (An ant with a little bit of leaf looks like an ant with an African mask) |
| (An ant with a little bit of leaf looks like an ant with an African mask)(x2) |
| The red raw salmon steak in the gas station urinal |
| A full feathered dead pigeon with its entire skull exposed |
| A single long stemmed rose resting between two mounted antlers |
| A spider spitting web on a styrofoam snowman’s head |
| Car salesmen asleep in their cars on lunch-break under the highway on-ramp |
| The x-ray of someone’s tumored skull left to scream doom from the gutter |
| With all the other preventative waste, no name no face |
| All the oil drills on some sick sedated rhythmic robot |
| Rape mode like brain-washed flies at a carcass |
| The highway shoulder dead dog’s fly devoured eyeballs |
| As garnish to a four lane state road |
| And all the southern Cali orange trucks headed to somewhere there’s winter |
| One armed men changing tires in the shoulder |
| For pretty ladies and their well dressed daughters; |
| Engine oil boiling, undercarriage eaten by a billion ants of rust |
| Bacteria gang-banging in the window cracks |
| A single long stemmed rose resting between two mounted antlers |