Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song This Ain't No Place For Animals, artist - Hands Like Houses. Album song Ground Dweller, in the genre Пост-хардкор
Date of issue: 12.03.2012
Record label: Rise
Song language: English
This Ain't No Place For Animals |
The gasoline is mixing with the oxygen |
In this carousel the silence is so surreal |
I’ve been misled down empty streets |
To a heart that never beats with a body that I can’t keep |
And we’re blessed with these, these horrors for highways |
This city turns, no longer content to just brush shoulders |
Have we lost our touch? |
A light goes on, we throw our blankets aside |
And it’s been hours now and we still know nothing |
We still know nothing |
The scars just don’t heal the same when we collide |
I’d never say that we step to the other side |
To keep us from brushing shoulders |
Well, it’s collisions we need to remind us that we’re alive |
I’ll never say that you make me sick |
But you’re turning all the questions to cancers, whoa |
Someone call in the emergency |
And we’ll peel back the dressings so we can see |
The kind of things that the surgeons see |
When the blood work won’t give us the answers, whoa |
They’ll never tell us, 'cause they don’t know what’s killing us |
My heart’s at a million miles an hour and we brace for the impact |
It makes time stand still |
Forcing momentum into a moment |
So for a split second I see your face |
In between all the broken glass, hanging like a mobile |
And this is a picture we’ll never quite forget |
The surgeons pick, they pick at my body |
(Their fingers dance, they dance all around me) |
The surgeons pick, they pick at my body |
(Their fingers dance, they dance all around me) |
Hold still while they pick at my body |
(Their fingers dance, they’ll dance all around me) |
Hold still while they pick at my body |
They’ll dance all around me |
Breathe your anesthetic words to slow us down |
Tear back the skin to find the chase, a pulse back home |
I’ll never say that you make me sick |
But you’re turning all the questions to cancers, whoa |
Someone call in the emergency |
And we’ll peel back the dressings so we can see |
The kind of things that the surgeons see |
When the blood work won’t give us the answers, whoa |
They’ll never tell us, 'cause they don’t know what’s killing us |