| There’s a dead man hanging, slumped over the steering wheel
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| Of an interstate runaway bursting into flames
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| And the devil was gently breathing
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| Sleeping face-down in my apartment
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| And like all his friends I’m growing tired of his games
|
| And there’s a homeless man arranging his hands
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| Grooving to the beat radiating from a police scanner
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| Who said, «The air is feeling good to me, as cool and ripe as air can be»
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| And a woman who sincerely believes in UFOs
|
| And who can blame her when the stars are hanging overhead
|
| Dangling by a thread
|
| Floating ten thousand feet off the ground
|
| (This was a story told to me when I was just the age of 17
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| One which God Himself dictated to me
|
| He said, «This is how all this shit’s gonna be when I blow your little planet
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| into smithereens
|
| Blow your little planet into smithereens»
|
| It haunted my dreams like an accident on replay on the TV screen)
|
| She sees faces in her dreams, strange machines she’d never seen
|
| Blueprints of submarines to reassemble in a time of dire need
|
| And there were preachers in the desert, waving to the crowd
|
| Dictating seven angry letters from a man up in the clouds
|
| And there were 27 soldiers telling 27 lies
|
| And a hole inside a hurricane with a pair of beady eyes
|
| A pair of beady eyes
|
| Looking down
|
| Onto the pavement while the stars are gathered 'round
|
| Because they all want a front seat when shit starts going down
|
| Because the sun is just a supernova turned the other way around
|
| There were strangers in the subway
|
| And men in limousines making deals
|
| And swapping photographs of cans of gasoline
|
| There are no angels in the woodwork or devils on the ground
|
| And they are looking through a hurricane’s tectonic wall of sound
|
| And a man who smokes his cigarettes the other way around
|
| And she is looking in behind him from inside a wall of sound
|
| And she is dancing with the neon because
|
| The air is feeling good against her arms and legs and fingertips are measuring
|
| the distance
|
| In the spaces in between me and you and all your friends when there’s no time
|
| to load a weapon
|
| No time to make amends,
|
| And people frozen in their tracks there staring at the sky at a hole inside a
|
| hurricane revealing
|
| A pair of beady eyes
|
| A pair of beady eyes
|
| Looking down
|
| Onto the pavement while the stars are gathered 'round
|
| Because they all want a front seat when shit starts going down
|
| Because the sun is just a supernova turned the other way around
|
| This is not a test, this is the real thing
|
| This is not a test, this is the real thing |