| That ride the tails of their cigarette smoke
|
| Sliding through the tunnels of our ears
|
| Those greasy marionettes of real bone and blood
|
| Stand on the corner of Washington Square
|
| Washington Square
|
| Well our vision was stinging
|
| And our eyes were blurring
|
| Elevator’s got you rising so high
|
| Seventeen floors, you want so much more
|
| Elevator’s got you rising so high
|
| Seventeen floors, you want so much more
|
| And there’s lightning on the ceiling
|
| Coming from the corner of her eye
|
| And there’s lightning on the ceiling
|
| Coming from the corner of her eye
|
| Somewhere horses flee from thunder
|
| Somewhere the bones of a cat
|
| Are buried under a garden, yeah
|
| Well there’s a radio on, broken song
|
| Empty digression, it won’t be long
|
| Won’t be long 'til you and me are gone from here
|
| And there’s lightning on the ceiling
|
| Coming from the corner of her eye
|
| And there’s lightning on the ceiling
|
| Coming from the corner of her eye
|
| We hear the dealers with the words
|
| That ride the tails of their cigarette smoke
|
| Sliding through the tunnels of our ears
|
| Those greasy marionettes of real bone and blood
|
| Stand on the corner of Washington, Washington
|
| Washington Square
|
| Well our vision was stinging
|
| And our eyes were blurring, yeah |