| That house broke my back
|
| That house I built skinned my knuckles
|
| That house I built picked my pockets
|
| And buckled every joint
|
| It pointed from youth and any truth I knew
|
| Towards a painted sundown on a break your nose horizon
|
| It isn’t mine, that house, that house I built I realised
|
| Turn my eyes to barnacles beneath a leaden hat of daily shame
|
| I cannot speak its name but I would walk into its mouth and I would breakfast
|
| in the belly of the whale
|
| I cannot speak its name but I would walk into its mouth and I would breakfast
|
| in the belly of the whale
|
| I cannot speak its name but I would walk into its mouth and I would breakfast
|
| in the belly of the whale
|
| I cannot speak its name but I would walk into its mouth and I would breakfast
|
| in the belly of the whale
|
| That house I built skinned my knuckles
|
| That house I built picked my pockets
|
| That house broke my back
|
| And buckled every joint
|
| It pointed from youth and any truth I knew
|
| Towards a painted sundial breaking the horizon
|
| It isn’t mine, that house, that house I built I realised
|
| Turn my eyes to barnacles beneath a leaden hat of daily shame
|
| I cannot speak its name but I would walk into its mouth and I would breakfast
|
| in the belly of the whale
|
| I cannot speak its name but I would walk into its mouth and I would breakfast
|
| in the belly of the whale
|
| I cannot speak its name but I would walk into its mouth and I would breakfast
|
| in the belly of the whale
|
| I cannot speak its name but I would walk into its mouth and I would breakfast
|
| in the belly of the whale |